Curiosity
by masquerade04
Summary: I really don't how I came to fell in love with Sherlock Holmes. He can be so arrogant some times that I would just like to punch him or be so clueless about feelings that I can't help but think he's cute. I don't know why he drags me along or why I let him drag me along. Oh that's right my curiosity makes me go. Eventual Sherlock/OC romance.
1. Meeting John and Sherlock

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 1: Meeting John and Sherlock**

This is my first Sherlock fanfic and I hope you enjoy it. If you're curious about Evie then google Katie Mcgrath. Some of my author followers probably know what a huge lady boner I have for her...it's so true, she's too beautiful it should be considered illegal.

Well read and enjoy...

_Evie's POV_

* * *

_I really need to get a life_, I thought as I scanned the large pile of books. All I ever do these days is work and sit around my flat wasting away. Though I've been trying my hardest to avoid my flat since my flatmate loves to bring back all sorts of men who she entertains until the early hours of the morning, I need a new place. However, finding a new place where my potential flatmates are not possible rapists or serial killers is very difficult.

I glanced down at my desk to the newspaper, Flatmate wanted: _Must be attractive with generous curves and open minded to being watched and filmed Pet_ _friendly!_. All I read was: _I am a murderer and whoever moves in with me will be my next victim and I will eat your pets_. I marked out the ad then went on to the next one, not all of them were crazy, but they were out of my price range or just too far away from Bart's where I worked in the school's library.

I flipped the next page; I couldn't help but notice the article about the three suicides. I couldn't believe the police-three suicides all similar to the same cause of death all found in pretty popular places. It screamed murder. I focused only on the article, with a marker I wrote **WRONG**, **MURDER**, and **SERIAL KILLER**. It made me feel like a detective as I thought about it: what connected them, how the murderer chose them, and how did the murderer make them take the poison.

"What on earth are you doing?" A shrill voice filled the air. It was the harpy known as Ms. Price, my boss who is determined to make my life a living hell. I really think she got off on sneaking up behind me, but then again, she loves sneaking up on the couples who do 'research' in the farthest shelves. I would really hate to be in that compromising position only to find the Harpy screeching with a rolled up National Geographic.

She really did look like a harpy, cruel as it to think. She was once in an accident that left her hunching over slightly and had terrible arthritis that made her hands looked gnarled like claws. It only made it worse that she did not age well, a lifetime of smoking and tanning left her skin leathery looking. She wasn't the prettiest thing to look out, but that wasn't what made her unbearable. Appearance is easy to ignore unless you're shallow. Ms. Price was all over a complete and total witch who loves to speak outwardly cruel to anyone who crossed her path. She acted nice at first to new people or customers, but would mumble terrible things about them under her breath thinking no one could hear her.

"Sorry, Ms. Price, I was…" I looked around for an excuse besides playing detective. I couldn't think of anything so I might as well fess up, "I was distracted, sorry." I looked down at my feet, but not in guilt. I didn't want to look into Ms. Price's beady eyes as they were no doubt narrowing up at me.

"Of course you were, you can't keep a good solid thought in your head. You were probably daydreaming about your harlotting ways." Ms. Price was convinced I was a harlot, which I thought to be more funny than insulting considering I haven't had a relationship in three years. A pang went through my chest at the thought, but I pushed it aside.

"Or you were thinking about the transfer. Can't believe they would want a lazy sod like you, but then again, I could replace you with someone more competent." She sneered.

"I will certainly miss you." I grumbled.

Ms. Price grunted, then hobbled away with a magazine rolled tightly in gnarled fist, I don't understand how she can wield or turn it into such a formidable weapon. I had no doubt she found out some unfortunate couple snogging somewhere within the library.

Not a second later, two men ran out of the shelves stumbling over their pants as they attempted to pull them up and dodge Ms. Price's blows. Poor lads, I thought, but then I heard it uttered beside me.

"Poor lads." I turned to see one of my friends, well my only friend, Mike Stamford. He was the first person to be kind to me once I started working at the library. I remember the day I started working, an arse had the nerve to grab my bum. Mike didn't hurt the boy, but he threatened to turn him into the dean who might kick him out of the school. No one after that even looked at me the wrong way after Mike took me under his wing.

"Oh, hello Mike, anything I can help you with?" I asked politely.

"No, but I do believe you're done for the day." He glanced at his watch, "In fact you've been done for an hour now."

My jaw dropped and I glanced at the clock in shock, "Wow, how fast the time passes by when you're being tortured by the Harpy." I mumbled. Mike chuckled when he heard me.

"Well, it's my lunch break. Would you like to join me?" He asked.

"Why not?" I shrugged. I was glad that I didn't have to go back to the apartment to hear Vivian, my flatmate, shagging. I gathered my things together, including the newspaper I wrote in and stuck it into my bag.

"How's the search going?" He asked once we sat on our favorite park bench.

"Terrible." I huffed a laugh, "Everything's expensive, out of the area, or has insane flatmates." I took a large bite out of my candy bar.

"But you usually stick to yourself, I doubt you'd have to converse with them." Mike commented. It's true I wasn't much of a talker; it took me forever to get out of my shell and talk to Mike. I was a solitary creature.

"It's true, I'm not looking for friends, but it would be nice not having to keep an eye open while I slept." I joked.

"I understand wanting to be safe, but Evie," Mike turned to me, "You need to make friends, I know it must have been hard for you to lose Liam but that was three years ago. You need to move on and have fun. Do something crazy!" He threw up his hands on the last sentence with a smile.

I gave him a sad smile and reached, but for my locket hidden under my blouse, "It's still hard, but I'm trying. I really am." I fought the crushing weight of depression and agony. I already mourned Liam though I still missed him terribly, but his death wasn't the reason I was devolving into a hermit. It was the person that took him away that made me this way.

"Just try a bit harder." Mike spoke softly. I didn't say anything but nodded. He seemed to settle for that and looked away. It was that moment that he saw someone he knew and called for them. The man who walked with a cane didn't hear him or just ignored him, but he stopped after Mike called again. Mike jumped up walking over to him; I stayed put and watched them.

"It's Mike Stamford." Mike reminded him, "We went to Bart's together."

The man looked like he didn't want to be talking to Mike. He looked like he didn't want to talk to anyone period. He looked like if you said the wrong thing, he wouldn't hesitate to punch you. He didn't seem all nice either, but he didn't say anything to Mike. Strange, he didn't look physically if he could hurt someone. He was shorter than me, maybe by a few inches, and he wasn't built strong. He looked about average in build with short brownish-blond hair.

He played polite and stuck out his hand to shake Mike's, "Yes, sorry, yes Mike hello."

Mike laughed cheerfully, "Yea, I know, I got fat." I silently laughed along with him.

"No." John mumbled, not very convincingly.

"I heard you were abroad somewhere getting shot out." Mike said, trying to make conversation, "What happened?"

John replied with no emotion, "I got shot." My smile dropped and I couldn't help the look of pity popping up on my face, though he didn't see it or notice me.

They must be why he looked and sounded so angry. Getting shot and leaving you with a limp can make anyone bitter, even this man. I wonder how recently it happened.

Mike looked very uncomfortable, "I'm sorry, John. W-would you like to join me for some coffee? I'll buy." He offered. John simply nodded; together they went off to a coffee cart close by. Mike and he returned to our bench. I could see him clutching two drinks in his hands; I couldn't stop the smile, knowing he bought me a hot chocolate.

"John Watson, this is my friend Evangeline Murphy. She works in Barts' library" Mike introduced, why did he always introduce me by my full name? John gave me a polite smile and shook my hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Evangeline." He said with a small smile.

"You as well, but please call me Evie." I said. I scooted over so he could sit between us. Mike then handed me my chocolate. The three of us were all silent for a moment, I had no problem with the silence, but Mike was a social creature, for once though it wasn't Mike to break the conversation but John.

"Are you still at Barts, then?" John asked.

"Teaching now. Bright young things like we were. God, I hate them." Mike joked. I knew for a fact he loved teaching and all his students. John and I laughed briefly along with Mike.

"What about you? Are you just staying in town until you get yourself sorted?" Mike asked.

"I can't afford a place in London on an army pension." John replied.

"And you couldn't bear to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know." Mike smiled.

John grimaced, "I'm not the John Watson you…" John stopped there. While Mike was taking a drink, John clenched his fist. It made sense to me; he was a soldier who was shot giving him that limp making him bitter. He still wanted to be out there on the battlefield. Hesitantly, I placed my hand on his arm. He shot a confused look at me, but I gave him an understanding smile. He nodded and took a deep breath. We hardly knew each other, but I could feel the small bond that formed just in that moment.

"Couldn't Harry help?" Mike asked.

John scoffed, "Yeah, like that's going to happen." Whoever Harry was, John certainly wasn't going to him.

"I don't know; get a flat share or something. Evie's trying to do the same thing." Mike said.

"Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?" John asked. I just nodded my head thinking the same thing about me. Who wanted to live with an emotional hermit with serious trust issues and depression? No one, "I know I wouldn't want to live with myself." I mumbled aloud.

Mike chuckled, "You know you're the second and third person to say that today."

John and I thought a moment, then spoke together, "Who was the first?"

Mike chuckled, "He's someone you just got to meet in person." Mike stood up and waited for us. Without question both of us followed behind Mike silently until we got to Barts' labs.

The three of us entered a lab with only one person in there at the moment. I didn't pay attention to the conversation; I was busy looking around the lab with curiosity and with worry that I might see some body parts lying about. Luckily for me, I didn't see any. I wished I was smart enough and had the stomach to work in a lab, but that was just my imagination running a wild. Honestly the only reason I would ever want to work in a lab was to create a monster or maybe a unicorn. Or maybe I could create a unicorn monster to take over the world!…I seriously needed therapy.

A deep and handsome voice brought me away from my thoughts of world domination, "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine." I looked up from the vials and other equipment to look at the speaker. The voice certainly fitted him; an unworldly attractive voice belonged to an unworldly attractive man.

He was pale like me, but I thought it looked better on him. He was tall and lean, wearing a nice and expensive suit. What I wouldn't give to run my fingers through his beautiful black curls, it made mine look plain. Dear sweet God, he had the most breathtaking eyes. My green paled in comparison to his kaleidoscope of blue, green, and gold irises. I was willing to bet money that his cheekbones could cut diamonds. Don't get me started on his lips…_oh snap out of it, Evangeline! Since when have you ever drooled over a man?! Have some decency!_

"And what's wrong with the land line?" Mike asked.

"I prefer to text." He answered without looking away from his project.

"Um…you could use mine." I spoke up quietly. He looked up at me and got up, "Thank you."

I dug through my bag aware his eyes were on me. Finally, at the bottom of my bag, I found my phone and handed it to him. Just as it touched his hands, my phone went off with a text. I tilted it while still in his hand to read the message upside down.

_Don't come home tonight, got some friends. –Viv._

I let out an annoyed sigh, and cancelled the message. John must have thought I would want to reply back and offered up his phone instead. The man nodded, handing back my phone and took John's instead. He looked down at John's phone for a second, then back at me as I put the phone back. My eyes followed his, he was reading the squibbles I jotted down on the newspaper. I see that I added stuff without thinking earlier before the Harpy scared me.

**How does he pick them?** **How does he get them to take the poison?** Oh, and my personal favorite,** How on earth are the police this thick headed?** I hope no police officer ever caught me with this. I looked up at him with a sheepish smile, but only to find him smirking at me, impressed about something.

"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson. And that's Evangeline Murphy, she works here at Barts in the library." Again Mike introduced me with Evangeline.

The man, still beside us, opened John's phone to text spoke, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" The question threw me off since it came out of nowhere, though I knew it was meant towards John since he was a soldier. I couldn't help but notice Mike's please smile, what was he up to?

"Sorry?" John asked, swallowing thickly.

The man looked up, "Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" The man's eyes darted to me for a brief second then back to John.

"Afghanistan. I'm sorry, how did you know…?" John didn't get to finish asking his question before the door opened and the man spoke.

"Ah Molly… coffee, thank you." He took the mug from the girl who just entered, "What happened to the lipstick?" He asked looking her up and down.

She, Molly, forced a smile and said, "I-it wasn't working for me." I knew then she had a crush on the man. He didn't even seem to pick her the obvious hints.

"Really?" He asked making her smile before he spoke again, "I thought it was a big improvement. You're mouth's too small now." Ok, whatever thoughts, I had about him before, were gone now. I wanted to smack him in the head. The girl looked absolutely adorable and he just spoke down to her like that. No woman should take that.

She mumbled Ok with a frown. She was trying to smile, but she was failing, I gave her a smile that she tried to return but she walked out quickly and stiffly. I was still looking at the door and planning what I should make my monster unicorn do to him once I completed it when he spoke again.

"How do you feel about the violin?" He asked. I loved it, but I didn't say aloud. I was trying to figure out why he was asking all these extremely random questions.

"I'm sorry, what?" John asked confused.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He gave us an obviously fake smile.

"Did you tell him anything about us?" I asked Mike. Though I don't remember him messaging or talking on the phone after our conversation on the bench, if he spoke to him about anyone it would have been me since I see Mike every day. John was just someone who happened to show up and have a conversation about flatshares.

"Not a word." Mike looked innocent as he fiddled with a test tube.

"Then who said anything about flatmates." John was starting to sound impatient.

The man grabbed his coat while answering, "I did. I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. And now here he is just after lunch with an old friend clearly just home from military service from Afghanistan and his librarian friend who wants to move out of her old flat because of a horrible flatmate who keeps her up until the early hours of the morning with 'friends'. Wasn't that difficult a leap." The man put on his coat and a fancy scarf while he explained.

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asked.

He ignored John's questions, "I got my eye on a nice place in central London. Together the three of us should be able to afford it. We'll meet tomorrow evening, 7:00." He passed us getting to the door, "Sorry, I got to dash. I forgot my ridding crop in the mortuary." Did he say riding crop? Stop curiosity, I don't want to know. _Yes, you do_, it whispered back. Oh, shut it!

John and I were gaping like fish, no doubt. We shared a flabbergasted look before turning back to this strange man, "Is that it?" John asked.

"Is that what?" The man asked, stepping away from the door back to us.

"We've only just met and now we're talking about to go look at a flat." John looked up at him with a tough look.

"Problem?" He asked.

John shot Mike a smile, then looked back at the man, "We don't even know a thing about each other. We don't know where we're meeting. We don't even know your name." The 'we' wasn't lost on me or the protective tone John already took when it came to me.

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife." The man looked down at John's cane, my eyes followed his, "And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic-quiet correctly, I'm afraid."

He looked at me then, part of me was afraid what he would say, but the other part, my curiosity, wondered what he would say, "And you are a bored, under-paid librarian tired of her dull life and your flatmate who won't give you enough rest. Though I imagine with the transfer to West Kensington Library will be a better improvement than Barts' library, better pay and hopefully without an evil boss. I know you have an insatiable curiosity, an admirable trait by the way. You love drawing, hate being the center of attention, have a large imagination, and hate to be called Evangeline, though it is a nice name that suits you. I think I'll call you by it instead of whatever nickname you'll no doubt ask me to call you by, you don't mind do you? I also know that you've just recently got out of a relationship that he ended." I was shocked to say the least, how did he know all that? The only thing he was wrong about was about the relationship, but I was too blown away to say anything.

"I think that's enough to go by, don't you think?" He said smugly. Before walking out he said, "The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He sent us a wink then rushed off. I have a feeling my life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

**So what did you think? Evie is a little more observant than John is but not as near as Sherlock. I don't like reading fanfics where the girl is as observant as he is, though some might...nothing wrong with that. Evie only knew that the suicides were really murders because really think about it. Three person who didn't know each other of have any other connection die the same way without it being murder, anyone could see that the police were being idiots. **

**For those you follow me and read this. I'm sorry I haven't updated my Walking Dead fanfics and Boondock Saints yet. I can't control the creative juices and I just started watching the Sherlock tv show and I had to write something about it. I have not abandoned them, I will finish them. I will go down with this ship! **

**Anyways, 'til next time. I love your faces! ^_^**


	2. 221B Baker Street

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 2: 221B Baker Street**

Thank you KD for being the first to review. I'm glad you like it and I hope you enjoy this one as well.

Btw, Liam is modeled after Aidan Turner.

_Evie's POV_

* * *

John and I stood there for a moment before turning to Mike, with a smile he said, "Yea, he's always like that. Well, I can't stay any longer; I have a class to get to. John, it was great seeing you again. Evie, wonderful as always. I imagine the two of you will want to get to know each other better so I'll be going now." Mike left without another word not that John or I minded, we were still shell-shocked.

Finally, I decided I was going to be the one to break the stupor, "So, um John, would you like to get to know each other more, since we might be flatmates?" I asked.

John came out of his thoughts, "Uh, yea, why not."

Several minutes later, John and I were sitting in a booth at one of his favorite deli's waiting on our food, "So…what did you think about that guy…that Sherlock?" He asked.

"I really don't know what to think, honestly. Somehow he knew things about us that we haven't said, but it's amazing and a little unnerving, don't you think." I replied.

"I agree. So what he right about everything, if you don't mind me asking." John asked kindly.

"Not everything. I didn't just get out of a relationship where the man left me." I replied sadly.

John thought about it for a moment, "I wonder what made him think that." He thought aloud.

I brushed my thumb over my locket while I thought about it then it dawned on me, "My locket!" I said excitedly.

John was surprised by my random outburst, "What about it?" He asked a bit worried.

"He probably could tell by it. It has an inscription, _For my beautiful Evangeline. I never knew love until you_." I said, "I usually keep it tucked inside my shirt, but I guess it came out while I searched for my phone."

"Oh." John thought about it again and looked at my locket, "Who did give that to you? It sounds like something romantic."

I frowned and slumped back into my seat, "My husband did." I replied so very quietly I'm surprised he even heard me.

"Oh, I didn't know you were married, I didn't see your ring." He glanced down at my hand, "You're not wearing a ring."

"My husband died three years ago. It's still too painful to wear the ring, but I can't part with the locket. I don't know why." I sniffled.

"I'm sorry to bring it up and I'm sorry about him." John said sincerely.

"It's alright. Liam's death had such an impact on me and I'm still trying to get back to how I once was." I said. I opened the locket where a picture of him and I were, "That was my Liam."

Liam was truly the most amazing man I've ever known. He was such full of life and always had a smile on his face. He was also the most handsome man I ever saw, Liam was darker than most Irishmen with chin-length brown hair dark and beautiful brown eyes. He was tall, but not as tall as Sherlock, and had a bit more muscle. He wasn't afraid of working hard or getting dirty; he was always willing to help out a friend or even a stranger. I loved him from the very moment I set my eyes on him and God I miss him so much.

"He was a handsome guy, your Liam." John nodded, looking at the picture. I nodded with a smile looking at it too. I closed the locket and put it back inside my shirt where it would be close to my heart.

"So did he get anything wrong with you?" I asked.

John puts on an amused smile, "Oh, he did."

I couldn't help the full smile taking over my lips, "What?" I let out a laugh, "What was it?"

John chuckled again before saying, "He thinks Harry is my brother, Harry is short for Harriet."

"I can't wait to see his face when you tell him that." I joked. Both of us burst into laughter after that and didn't stop until we couldn't breathe. The rest of the night John and I talked, I really liked him. He was a nice man and I could really see him becoming my friend. Eventually the deli closed and we parted ways, but not before giving each other's number so we could meet up tomorrow. I begrudgingly went back to my flat and was greeted by the loud moans and groans of Vivian and her 'friends'. Lord, it sounded like there were two guys in there, another groan rang out that I didn't hear before…three men were in there.

I ignored them to the best of my ability and headed straight for my room. I put on headphones and played music just laying on my bed thinking about what happened today. Who was this Sherlock Holmes and how did he know things like that about John and I? How did he know I loved drawing? I glanced down at my hands, that mystery was solved; I still had bits of charcoal under my finger nails. But what about the large imagination? Or how I hate to be the center of attention? I couldn't stand not knowing how he knew so I did the best thing I could think of the town, I googled him. I was surprised it paid off because I found his blog: The Science of Deduction. A lot of it, I couldn't understand the rest just seemed far-fetched but I read until I couldn't keep my eyes opened. I yanked out my headphones, luckily there was no moaning ringing throughout the house, and I went to bed.

I woke up late in afternoon around two. I was still exhausted but I got out of bed, I had to meet up with John and Sherlock around six and that meant I should at least look presentable. By the way my bed-head curls looked, I would have to shower.

I rushed through the shower and getting dressed then hopped in a taxi. I hated riding in taxis alone; the thought of jumping in a car with a complete and total stranger who you must trust to get you to your destination safely freaked me out. They could be a murderer for all I knew. Great, I'm getting paranoid now; I wasn't paranoid before Liam died.

"Where to, Miss?" The cabbie asked. I looked up at him; he didn't look like a killer that was good. I breathed a sigh in relief. If anything he was just an old man who knicked himself in the same place on his neck with a razor repeatedly, he was just a regular man.

"221 Baker Street please." I said. My eyes went to a photograph of his children, though his wife was torn out, yes, he was just a regular man with a family and a terrible marriage. I didn't have any reason to be afraid, I didn't have any reason to be afraid of strangers. I took a deep breath and calmed myself down.

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded. He dropped me off and I paid the fee.

"Have a nice day, ma'am." He said.

"You as well." I closed the door and found John sitting by the café beside the door. I was making my way over when a dog jumped up trying to get my attention. I bent down to pet its head, the owner apologized but I told him it was fine and that I loved dogs. I pulled out germ-x to get rid of the dog saliva then went over to John.

"I wondered when you'd show up."

I looked down at the clock on my phone, "Am I late?" We agreed to meet at 6:30; it was 6:00 when I got there.

"No, I've been here since five. I thought you'd want to figure out about him too and would get here early as well." John explained, "I got you a hot chocolate by the way. I knew it was what you drank yesterday."

I laughed, "Thank you." I took a sip of the bitter drink, "I looked him up last night."

"So did I." John said. We talked until it was time to meet Sherlock about what we thought about the blog. John thought of it was weird and we didn't want to believe it until he saw proof. I thought it was incredible, but some of the things he said sounded unbelievable to me as well. In order to do the things he said, he would have to be a genius. Hyper-observant was one thing, but he said he could tell someone's whole life story just by looking at their thumbs. It was hard to wrap my mind around.

Finally John and I got up and went to the door, just was John was ready to knock on the navy blue door, a voice behind us called.

"Hello." I turned to see Sherlock bending down to pay the cabbie.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes." John turned around.

"Sherlock, please." He shook John's hand with his gloved one, then turned to shake mine.

"Nice to see you again, Sherlock." I smiled, "The area seems lovely, but do you think we all can afford it?" My eyes glanced around; places around here were in the thousands.

"Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out." Sherlock explained with his hands behind his back.

"So you stopped her husband from being executed?" John asked in awe.

Sherlock smiled, "Oh no, I ensured it." His smile only got wider from John's shock.

"What did he do to get sentenced to death?" I asked unfazed.

Sherlock smiled, he wasn't able to answer because the door opened by a sweet, short lady wearing a bright purple dress. Her arms were opened wide to embrace Sherlock and very sweetly she greeted him by name. Sherlock returned the hug earning himself a respect point in my book.

"Mrs. Hudson, Dr. John Watson and Ms. Evangeline Murphy." He introduced.

Mrs. Hudson smiled widely, "Hello, do come in." John passed by her and when I passed, she stopped me to look at me, "Aren't you a doll!" I blushed and looked down at my feet, "Thank you. Um…please call me Evie." I said, looking back at her.

"And so polite! You will be a wonderful change to that grump of a Sherlock. I bet you're an adorable couple." She gushed.

I blushed harder, "Oh…no…Sher...me…not together." I couldn't speak properly and Sherlock was right behind me taking it all in. John was silently laughing me, the arse. I should take that cane of his and beat him over the head with it.

"You're not?" Mrs. Hudson asked, "Well, you'd be adorable together if you were. I can just imagine the babies."_ Who on earth said anything about babies! I barely know the man!_

"Shall we?" Sherlock asked, nonplussed by someone thinking of our future children. He rushed in front to lead us to the flat. I was in front of John as he made his way up the stairs, "I bet your babies would be beautiful too." John joked.

"Don't make me hurt you, John." I growled.

"You're precious when you growl, maybe your children will too." John laughed. I growled again and shot him a look. John held up a hand in surrender, but he still shook with silent laughter.

In front of the door, Sherlock waited until we reached the door before opening it. The living room we'd share was cluttered by boxes of books and other things. The built in book shelves already were covered in books and papers. The table/desk was covered in stuff as well as the coffee table. The only thing not covered was stuff was two chairs and a settee.

I loved the place right away, even with all the clutter-it made it feel homier. The flat had a classical charm to it, and standing in the room just made me feel smart. Plus, I adored the wallpaper. Sherlock stood beside me as I looked around the room. I looked at him, sending him a smile that said I liked the place. He turned with a small smile of his own, whether it was fake or not, I don't know.

John looked around too, "Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed."

"I like it." I voiced my thoughts. I looked at the fireplace that sat a skull. I picked it up for a moment feeling the bone, it was real bone. I set it back down delicately so I wouldn't drop it. I went back to my exploring. I glanced at the books on the shelves, I practically drooled thinking about reading them. Whoever this belonged too had wonderful taste in literature. I passed by a violin and ran my fingers over the strings wishing I knew how to play.

"I think so. My thoughts precisely," Sherlock agreed, watching me while I admired the violin and books.

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out." John gestured to the boxes of books.

"I hope the books stay." I said as I ran my fingers down the spine of a first edition Edgar Allan Poe's complete Stories and Poems.

"So I went ahead and moved in." Sherlock said we spoke, "Oh." Sherlock glanced around the mess and started to straighten up only a little. I felt that I should help so I picked up some papers and set them on the desk.

"So this is all…" John mumbled embarrassed.

"Well, obviously I can straighten things up a bit." Sherlock grabbed some papers setting them on the fireplace and drove a knife through them, "And the books, of course, are staying. You may read them, if you promise to take care of them."

"Sherlock, I'm a librarian. We take a vow for life to never to harm a book." I joked, which actually earned me a smile from him, I think it actually was a real smile.

"That's a skull." John broke our eye contact by pointing at the skull with his cane.

"Friend of mine." Sherlock said, "When I say friend…" He glanced at us both in turn like he was expecting us to tease him, but we didn't say anything.

Mrs. Hudson walked in, "What do think then, Dr. Watson? Evie?"

"I love it." I answered. Yes, I think I will move in here. It will be nice to be out of the flat with Vivian. Maybe I could actually get some sleep at night.

Mrs. Hudson looked like she was about to break out into dance with how happy she was, but kept calm, "There's two more bedrooms upstairs if you'll be three bedrooms." Something about the way she said it or how she was looking at John made me want to giggle. John seemed appalled at what she was insinuating. Sherlock didn't seem to care less as he removed his coat and scarf. He pointed at mine; I realized I was burning up. I started to take mine off, but Sherlock pulled it off for me and laid it beside his.

"Of course, we'll be needing three bedrooms." John answered.

Mrs. Hudson looked worried, "Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner, next door, has got married ones." She whispered the last sentence like she was worried Mrs. Turner would hear.

It was my turn to laugh silently, but however I didn't do it quite so silent. I slapped my hand over my mouth and snickered loudly._ Ha-ha, take that for_ _messing with me about babies_. John shot me a glare that only made me laugh harder. I had to completely turn away from him to get back under control.

Sherlock just went back to unpacking, which somehow I joined in. I handed him books that he put them away. I looked up to John's shell-shocked look. Mrs. Hudson went into the kitchen, which I haven't had the chance to look at yet.

"Oh, Sherlock, the mess you made." She scolded. Sherlock didn't say or do anything, he returned back to putting his books on the shelf until the box was empty. I sat down in a chair across John as Sherlock pulled out his laptop which reminded John of our conversation at the café.

"I looked you up on the internet last night." John said.

Sherlock smiled proudly, "What did you think?"

John gave him a look that probably meant, 'that was the strangest bull I ever read'. Or at least that's what I thought it meant. Sherlock's proud look went away, then he looked at me, "What did you think?"

"It was…" I don't really know my thoughts about it, "strange but amazing." That's a good way to describe it. Sherlock smiled again at the amazing part.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airplane pilot by his left thumb?" John said unbelieving.

"Yes. And I can read your military career in your face and your leg and your brother's drinking habits on your mobile phone." Sherlock said seriously. His deep voice sent shivers down my spine. _You will not be attracted to him, you hear me, Evangeline!_

"I could tell you were an artist my your hands, how you hate to be called Evangeline by how your right eyebrow twitches, and your insatiable curiosity by how you look around. I also know now that you have a terrible weakness for sweets, love violin music, and always wanted a dog. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson would allow it."

"How?" John asked. Sherlock smiled and turned away.

Mrs. Hudson stepped out of the kitchen holding a newspaper, "What do you think about these suicides, then, Sherlock? I thought that would be right up your street." I glanced at Sherlock, wondering if he knew they were really murders too. I pulled the doodled newspaper out of my bag.

"Three exactly the same." Mrs. Hudson went on.

"Four." Sherlock said, looking out the window. He stole a glance at me and my newspaper, "There's been a fourth, and there's something different this time." I jumped up to look out the window beside him, outside was a police car. Not a minute later, a man ran up the stairs, Sherlock didn't give him the chance to speak, "Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." He answered in a hurry.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." Sherlock spoke coolly.

"You know how they never leave notes? This one did." He answered, "Will you come?"

Sherlock thought it over for a moment then asked, "Who's on forensics?"

"Anderson." The answer made Sherlock grimace.

"Anderson won't work with me." Sherlock frowned.

The man frowned too, "He won't be your assistant."

John and I just watched the two conversing with shock, curiosity, and confusion. What the hell was going on?

"I need an assistant!" Sherlock bit.

"Will you come?" The man looked desperate asking him.

"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind you." Sherlock answered. The man looked relieved to hear it. He nodded towards us, then left. The second we heard the door shut, Sherlock's cool facade disappeared and he shouted, "Brilliant!" He jumped in the air. A large and genuine smile took up his whole face.

"Yes! Ah, four serial suicides and now a note." Sherlock spun around and grabbed his coat, "Oh, it's Christmas." He cheered. Though he was happy about another death, I couldn't help my smile and a slight giggle. He looked absolutely adorable, but I mentally slapped myself and forced the smile to disappear.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food." Sherlock said as he went into the kitchen.

"I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson said._ Yea, you tell him!_

"Something cold will do. Evangeline, John make yourself a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up." Sherlock ran out the door, leaving John and I staring at the door astounded at what we just witnessed.

"Look at him dashing about._ My _husband was just the same." Mrs. Hudson said you John, "But I can see that you're the sitting down type, I can tell." I snorted covering it up with a cough and reached for the Edgar Allan Poe book I saw before, "I'll make you that cuppa, you rest your leg."

"Damn my leg!" John shouted, I jumped, dropping the book, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes, this bloody thing…" He tapped his leg with his cane. I nodded and picked up the book.

"I understand, dear, I've got a hip." Mrs. Hudson said, laying her hand on one of her hips.

"A cup of tea would be lovely." John said snatching a newspaper.

"Just this once, I'm not your housekeeper." Mrs. Hudson chided.

"A couple of biscuits, if you have some." John said, making me roll my eyes. _Men..._

"Not your housekeeper." She repeated, making me smile.

I looked back to my book, but was interrupted by the deep, magical voice, "You're a doctor." I looked up; Sherlock was leaning against the door frame slipping on some black leather gloves. John stood up and I put the book down to watch whatever was about to happen.

"In fact, you're an army doctor." Sherlock said.

"Yes." John nodded.

"Any good?" Sherlock asked.

"Very good." John answered.

I watched silently, both looked so cool, so calm as they spoke to one another. My eyes darted back and fourth with the conversation.

"Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths? Bit of trouble too, I bet." Sherlock neared John and I until he was standing right in front of John. The room seemed so silent that you could hear a pin drop; the moment was very epic to behold.

"Of course, enough for a lifetime. Far too much." John answered. I frowned listening.

"Want to see some more?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh God yes." John said. Well, that was unexpected.

John was ready to leave then but Sherlock just looked at me, "Well, Evangeline are you coming or not?"

"What?" I questioned and stood up, "Why would you want me to go on a crime scene with you? Why would I want to go?" I crossed my arms.

"Because you're curious if you're right. You want to know how he does it. I want you to go because unlike most women, well people in general, you actually use your brain." Sherlock grabbed my coat and held it out to me, "So do you want to read or watch telly or do you want to solve a murder with me….and John."

I gave him a scrutinizing look for a moment. Did I really want to go with him just to find out if I was right?

"You could just tell me about it once you've solved it." I said.

Sherlock smirked, "But where is the fun in that. And you know it. Your curiosity is eating you from inside, you want to know." He whispered, "You need to know, you crave it." More shivers went down my spine, I forgot for a moment that he was talking about a case than something else, something not so innocent.

I took a deep breath before taking my coat from his hands, "You and my curiosity are going to lead me into some serious trouble."

He gave me a satisfied smirk, "But at least you won't be bored."

I smiled, "There's that." I put on my coat and followed the two. I just prayed that it wouldn't lead me into trouble. What was that saying…curiosity killed the cat?


	3. Pink

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 3: Pink**

Thank for the two more reviews. I'm glad you're loving my story and Evie.

_Evie's POV_

* * *

The cab ride was awkwardly silent. John sat beside Sherlock and I sat in the seat in front of Sherlock. I squirmed in my seat again, the silence was killing me. I wanted someone to break it soon, but I didn't want to be the one to do it. Finally Sherlock seemed to notice both John's and my squirming and looked away from his phone.

"You have questions." He stated.

"Yea, where are we going?" John immediately asked.

"Crime scene, next." Sherlock answered.

"Who are you? What do you do?" He asked again.

"What do you think?"

"I'd say private detective…" I started.

Sherlock looked over to me, "But…?"

"But police don't go to private detectives." I finished, "So what are you and why to the police go to you?"

Sherlock briefly smiled, "I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world. I invented the job."

"What does that mean?" I asked, scooting to the edge of my seat, closer to him.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock explained.

"Like four suicides with no notes, you're right they are out of the depth." I said sitting back. Sherlock smiled again at me, but like all his smiles, it was gone in a second.

"The police don't consult amateurs." John argued.

Sherlock gave him an almost insulted look, then decided he was going to show off his impressive skills, "When I met you yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq, you look surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?" John asked.

"I didn't know, I saw." Sherlock said, "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. And your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Barts, so army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned but not above your wrists. You've been abroad but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic, wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan…Afghanistan or Iraq."

I was absolutely amazed hearing this, but John acted like it wasn't anything great, he spoke calmly, "You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a therapist." Sherlock replied shortly, "Then's there's your brother."

John looked away from the window, shooting me a quick glance before looking back to Sherlock. I hid the small smile that formed on my lips. I was curious when John would drop the bomb about Harry really being a girl, but he didn't correct him yet so either would I.

"Your phone." John handed Sherlock back his phone and Sherlock continued on with his deduction.

"It's expensive, email-enabled, MP3 player. And you're looking for a flatshare. You wouldn't waste money on this; it's a gift, then. Scratches-not one, but many from overtime. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next it's easy. You know it already." Sherlock turned the phone over for both of us to see.

"The engraving?" I asked. Which by the way, who engraves a phone? Am I the only one who's wondering about that?

"Harry Watson-clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father. This is a young man's gadget. It could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely that you've got extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now Clara…who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently; this model is only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then. Six months on, he's just given away. If she left him, he would have kept it like Evangeline keeps her locket. People do, sentiment."

Oh, Sherlock, how wrong you are about Harry and my locket. I wonder when John and I will tell him about his mistakes, though he's gotten everything right except for it.

"No, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you. That says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you won't go to your brother for help. That says you have problems with him. Maybe you like his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking." Sherlock went on to explain.

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John asked, now he was starting to show his surprise.

Sherlock smirked, then started up again, "Shot in the dark, good one though. Power connection, tiny scuff-marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge, but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them."

Sherlock looked up ahead at me; I guess it was my turn. I scooted at the edge of my seat again surprisingly eager to hear what he has to say.

"Now you, Evangeline, I said you were a bored, under-paid librarian. The librarian part was easy because Mike mentioned it. I know you're bored by the doodles on your newspaper and you are underpaid by your clothes, phone, and bag. They're not expensive, but you take good care of them. I saw by the charcoal under your nails and again the newspaper that you like to draw."

"What about the transfer and about my boss?" I scooted again, our knees were touching.

"In your bag, I saw the letter on congratulating you that you were hired. I know about your boss, because I've met Ms. Price and no woman in her right mind would like her. She is positively the worst human being alive. Now the issues with your name and being the center of attention, every time Mike called you Evangeline your eye brow twitched in annoyance and then hastily look down, just like you did when Mrs. Hudson called you a doll. I know you have a large imagination by the books in your bag; all of them were fantasy and the way you smiled evilly at the lab equipment. Planning on making Frankenstein's monster, are we?" Sherlock smiled, "Now about your wonderful curiosity, when you entered the lab and the flat, you looked around completely blocking off all hearing. John called you twice in the lab, but you didn't hear him. Mike mentioned how you moved from Ireland, but you didn't say a word. You were too busy looking at the lab equipment."

"You said she loved dogs and liked candy." John reminded him.

"Right, there was dog hair all over your pants and coat, but you didn't seem to mind. You had several candy wrappers in your bag and one in your coat pocket. I know you like the violin by the way you looked at mine back at the flat." Sherlock took a breath, "Then there's your old flatmate, the text message and the bags under your eyes say that she's been keeping you up.

"Lastly, your relationship, your locket's engraving says you were in a very serious relationship, but the ever-present gloomy look you have and the way you keep it hidden inside your blouse says that it ended, ended badly. You keep the locket and make sure it's polished, he left you, but you still love him. It also brings me to think why you're here in London, you're Irish and you're a smart girl. You could get any job you wanted back home, no doubt. But you're here, so far from home. I bet it's because you wanted to get away from the place that reminds you of him."

"There you go, see you were right." Sherlock said looking at John.

"I was right…right about what?" John asked.

"The police don't consult amateurs." Sherlock replied.

"That… was amazing." John said, trying to keep his cool. I didn't say a word; I could only stare at Sherlock with an opened mouthed smile. I was shocked and amazed.

"You think so?" Sherlock asked eagerly to hear compliments.

"Of course it was. Extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary." John uttered.

"That was bloody awesome." I couldn't help the laughter.

"That's not what people normally say." Sherlock mumbled.

"What do people normally say?" John questioned.

"'Piss off.'" Sherlock replied, making John and I grin at each other. When I looked back at Sherlock, I noticed him staring at me, but I looked away, out the window.

The cabbie stopped a few moments later, Sherlock paid the cabbie then hopped out. He held out his gloved hand for me to take and then helped me out, "Thank you, good sir."

Sherlock smirked, then asked, "Did I get anything wrong?" Oh yes, finally we went to see him react. I knew it was going to be hilarious to knock him off his pedestal. Sherlock was arrogant, in fact, he radiated it.

John answered first, "Harry and I don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago. They're getting a divorce. Harry is a drinker." John said, I wondered when he was going to drop that fact that Harry was really his sister.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Sherlock said proudly.

"Harry is short for Harriet." John dropped the bomb. I turned to see Sherlock's reaction. He completely stopped walking and looked like a child who was told Santa wasn't real. It was hilariously adorable.

"Harry's your sister." Sherlock repeated shell-shocked.

"Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here? Why's Evie here?" John wanted to get straight down to business, but poor old Sherlock still couldn't get over the fact that he was wrong.

"Sister!" He hissed angrily, then whirled around on me, "What about you? Did I get anything wrong?"

"I haven't been in a relationship in three years. A man gave it to me and I still love him, but we're not together anymore. He didn't end it." I explained. I didn't want to say that it was my late husband who gave it to me, it hurt and I don't think Sherlock would understand. The way he said people keep things out of sentiment made me think he thought it was stupid to keep a hold of things from loved ones.

"You broke it off?" He asked, "Then why would you keep the locket?"

"I never said I broke it off. No one broke it off; we are just no longer together." I replied.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" Sherlock looked peeved. He didn't like not knowing something.

"Nope." I smirked.

He huffed, "There's always something." Now he looked like a child who had a toy taken away from him, I hope he doesn't throw a tantrum.

John was tired of being ignored, "Seriously, what are we doing here?" Sherlock didn't answer, he lead the way to the police tape where a woman with large frizzy brown hair stood by a police car.

"Hello Freak!" She called out when she saw Sherlock. I knew right away I did not like her one bit.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock said very businessman like. The issue of him being wrong was long gone.

"Why?" She asked rudely.

"I was invited." Sherlock tilted his head at her and narrowed his eyes at her in annoyance.

"Why?" She asked again with more venom.

Sherlock frowned and snapped, "I think he wants me to take a look."

She smirked, "Well, you know what I think, do you?"

Sherlock held up the police tape, then stepped to her side, "Always, Sally." He took a deep breath, "Even know you didn't come home last night."

The tart-I mean Sally, looked scared for a moment until she noticed us, "Uh, who are they?"

"Colleagues of mine-Dr. John Watson and Ms. Evangeline Murphy." Sherlock introduced sharply, "Dr. Watson, Evangeline-Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend." Sherlock said 'old friend' like he had other words in mind he'd rather call her.

"Colleagues? How did you get colleagues? And a woman one no less." Sally smirked widened, I would really like to smack it right off her face, but she was part of the police, "Did he follow you home?" She asked looking at us. Then again, hitting her and going to jail might be worth it.

"Would it be better if we just waited out here?" John asked, not wanting to get in the middle of whatever was going on.

"No." Sherlock answered and lifted the tape so John could crawl under. I stood there waiting for a moment, "Coming Evangeline?"

"Why do you want me here? Just because I wrote down on a newspaper?" I asked.

Sherlock didn't answer; he held the police tape up looking me right in the eyes, "Evangeline." He said my name deeply sending even more shivers down my spine for the third time tonight. Or was it the fourth? Fifth? I've lost count.

I was forced out of my thoughts by a hand grabbing my arm and pulling me to the other side of the police tape, this hand of course belonged to Sherlock Holmes. He didn't let go of my hand even when Sally teased about me being his girlfriend, and that she thought he only went for the dead ones. I'm not even going to ask what that was about.

Sherlock finally let go of me when a pale weasel faced man stepped right in front of him, blocking his way to the steps of the building. Sherlock put himself in front of me then John stepped beside him, it almost felt like both were trying to be some sort of wall.

"Ah Anderson, here we are again." Sherlock drawled.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" Anderson bristled, his voice certainly was annoying. He then noticed me then and smiled while looking me up and down like I looked at candy bars. Sherlock turned slightly to see what he was looking at in time to see me further pull my coat around me, my look of disgust, and me moving closer to both him and John.

Sherlock spoke again taking Anderson's attention away from me, "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

Anderson's face scrunched up making him look even more unpleasant, "Oh, don't pretend you worked that out! Someone told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men." It was obvious from Sherlock's face and voice that he was growing impatient and annoyed.

"Of course it's for men, I'm wearing it!" Anderson stared at Sherlock that he was mad.

Sherlock looked at Sally, "So's Sergeant Donovan." I clapped my hand over my mouth shaking violently with laughter as I understood what Sherlock was getting at. John looked back at me slightly worried and amused.

I only laughed harder into my hand when I saw both Sally's and Anderson's panicked faces. Sherlock only made it worse by taking a deep breath, "Oh, I believe it just vaporized. May I go in?"

"Now look, whatever you're trying to imply…" Anderson stated. By this time, I finally stopped laughing and was wiping the tears out of my tears. I haven't laughed that hard in three years; my ribs were killing me.

Sherlock interrupted him, then walked around him, "I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came around for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over." He reached the doorway before turning around nearly bumping into me, "And I assumed she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." I looked down, I really couldn't tell that anything was different about her knees.

Before going in, I looked at Sally, "You got something white right there." I gestured to my own lips at one of the corners. She didn't really, but it was funny to see her furiously wiping at her face until the spot was red.

Sherlock chuckled, then walked inside with me in tow. A moment later, John joined us, but not before checking out Sally's knees himself. We waited before John was right behind us before Sherlock took off again inside his house. Many police and forensics glared at him, but he walked in there with confidence.

He stopped when he saw the man from before who asked Sherlock to come, he was putting one some blue onesie. Sherlock pointed at a neatly folded pile of them and said, "You should put on one of these."

"Who are they?" The man asked, looking at us.

Sherlock slid off his gloves sliding on latex ones, "They're with me."

"But who are they?" He asked again. He gave me another appraising look. This man I didn't mind that much. To be honest, he was attractive for an older man. I gave him a friendly smile. Sadly the band on his finger told me he was married. Oh well...

Sherlock didn't have any patience, he rudely repeated, "I said they're with me."

I removed my coat and green scarf setting them down besides Sherlock's gloves and John's things. I noticed Sherlock wasn't making any motions to put one on, "Aren't you going to put one on?"

Sherlock gave me a look that meant 'of course I'm not going to put one of those ridiculous things on'. Then again, I could be guessing. I rolled my eyes at him, then put my hair up into a bun.

"So where are we?" Sherlock asked.

"Upstairs." The detective said. I looked up at the stairs and grimaced. There were a lot of them and I wasn't in the best of shape. I should really cut down on the candy. My frown didn't leave as we started our descent. The detective, who I learned was Lestrade, was in front, followed by Sherlock, then me, and lastly John in the back.

"I can give you two minutes." Lestrade told Sherlock. What all could Sherlock read about the victim in two minutes? But then again, he read so much about John and I just the first few seconds of knowing him.

"I may need longer." Sherlock said.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Lestrade explained. My frown deepened thinking about the poor kids who found her.

The men walked into the room where the body was, the moment I walked inside I froze looking at her. It wasn't the first time I've seen a dead body, but that didn't mean I was used to seeing them.

Seeing her lying there, reminded me back to when I lost Liam. He was laying the exactly the same way, but he was lying in a large pool of blood. I could smell the blood now. Instead of seeing the woman there, I saw Liam. I closed my eyes to get rid of the image.

"Shut up." I heard beside me. I opened my eyes to look at Sherlock who was looking at Lestrade.

"I didn't say anything." Lestrade scowled.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." Sherlock said. I let out a chuckle. He was such an arse, but a funny arse. Never before today did I find such arrogance so hilarious.

Lestrade threw me a look when I giggled. I covered my smile and mumbled, "Sorry."

Lestrade's glare faded away into a smile, "It's alright, Ms. Evangeline." _My, my flirty cop isn't he?_

Before I could tell him to call me Evie, Sherlock spoke up, "Evangeline prefers people to call her Evie, for some reason."

"Then why do you call her by full name?" Lestrade asked confused.

"Because I prefer to. Evie sounds like a four year old girl. Evangeline is a grown woman's name and befitting her. Though she does have the taste palate of a four year old." Sherlock remarked then went over to the body. I stuck my tongue at him making both Lestrade and John chuckle.

I looked back at the body, but this time I was alright, I couldn't help but remark, "My, she certainly loves to color coordinate. The pink is certainly burning my eyes." I chuckled. I got disapproving looks from John and Lestrade. I guess they didn't like speaking ill of the dead.

I glanced over the body, beside her, she scratched in 'race'. Why would she scratch in that? I typed it in my phone, it was German for revenge. No, I doubt she really meant that. She was dying, why waste your last moments on painfully scratching revenge into a wooden floor board. Maybe it meant…

"Rachel." I whispered. I don't know how but Sherlock heard me and smiled widely. He knelt down beside the body. He felt on her coat, then rubbed his fingers together. He did the same with her collar and an umbrella he pulled out of her pocket. He pulled a small rectangular magnifying glass from his coat and looked at his jewelry. He pulled off her wedding band, which was surprisingly dirty, and examined it. He smiled again after slipping the ring back onto her finger.

Lestrade saw the smile, "Got anything?" He asked hastily.

Sherlock looked smug when he answered, "Not much." I knew he was lying.

Anderson popped into the doorway, leaning on the door-frame very close to me. He looked at me and said, trying to impress me, "She's German. Rache-German for 'revenge." _Oh God, please stop talking._

He held a hand up to his chin, "She could be trying to tell us something." Sherlock didn't allow him to finish whatever he was about to say.

He closed the door right in Anderson's face, "Yes, thank you for your input."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock in question, "So she's German?"

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though." Sherlock pulled out his phone for a moment and looked something up on a weather app, "Intended to stay in town for only one night before returning home to Cardiff. So far, so obvious."

"Sorry, obvious?" John asked.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade pointed down at the unfinished 'Rachel'.

"Dr. Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock must really love ignoring people's questions. I was starting to get annoyed along with them. How did he get Cardiff and how did he know she was just staying in town for one night?

"Of the message?" John asked lost.

"Of the body, you're a medical man." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Wait, we have a whole team right outside." Lestrade argued then looked at me, "Why is she even here?"

Sherlock looked at him shortly to reply, "They won't work with me." Then back to John, completely ignoring the second question.

"I'm breaking every rule just by letting you in here."

"Yes, because you need me." Sherlock gave him a look.

"Yes, I do. God help me." Lestrade looked down at the victim.

"Dr. Watson." Sherlock called again. John looked up at Lestrade as if asking permission.

"Oh, do as he says, help yourself." Lestrade nodded then left the room. Through the door, we heard him tell no one to come up.

Sherlock knelt beside the body with John. I stood beside the door. Sherlock didn't even look away from the body, "Evangeline, come here."

"Why?" I asked. I didn't want to get any closer to the body than I had too.

"Because I want to see what else you'll notice. You'll miss some things from over there." Sherlock replied. I huffed, then walked over to kneel down beside Sherlock.

He looked at John, "Well?"

"What am I doing here?" John asked, "What are we doing here?"

Sherlock whispered, "Helping me make a point."

"We're supposed to be helping you pay the rent." John snipped.

"Well, this is more fun." Sherlock snipped back.

"You have a strange idea of fun." I chuckled the same time John said, "Fun. There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." Sherlock quipped.

Lestrade walked back in the room just as John knelt further down to the body. I examined the body as he did that, what did Sherlock mean that he wanted to see what else I noticed? I knew if there was something else Sherlock would have spotted it. He didn't need my help. Then I noticed something in the corner of my eye.

Dark splotches on the back on her right leg. I ran my fingers over the spot; it was wet and some dirt there. I felt breathing on my ear and the back of my neck; Sherlock was leaning in close to see what I saw. God, he smelt so good. I don't know what he was wearing, but it smelled like musk, sage, and bay leaves. (N/A smells similar to Bath and Body Work's Boathouse Row or Black Sands.)

I turned my head to him; our noses were separated by an inch. I quickly turned back to the splash on her leg. I had no clue what could have caused it.

"Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. Could have been a seizure, possibly drugs." John informed.

"You know what it was, you've read the papers." Sherlock said lowly. Another shiver, damn it man, can you stop with the voice!

"Well, she's one of the suicides, the fourth." John questioned. Sherlock was staring at him as he tried to figure it out.

"Sherlock, I said two minutes." Lestrade reminded, the impatience was loud and clear in his voice, and so was the desperation for answers, "I need anything you got."

"Victim is in her late 30s. Professional person, going by her clothes. I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. That's obvious by the size of her suitcase." Sherlock went on.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked what I was thinking.

"Suitcase, yes? She's been married for at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, but none of them knew she was married." Sherlock was looking around the room for something. The suitcase?

"Oh God, you're just making this up…" Lestrade shouted.

Sherlock walked back over to the body, "Her wedding ring, ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry is regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who, does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover. She'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them, simple."

John and I didn't realize how amazing, how brilliant Sherlock was until this moment. What he read from us seemed so obvious now, but what he was stating about this woman was shocking. It was hard to believe him.

John and I spoke at the same time, "It's brilliant." Sherlock and Lestrade both look at us surprised. John apologized to them, but I just looked down at my feet with a blush. I didn't mean to say that aloud, luckily John spoke too, so it was less embarrassing.

"Cardiff?" Lestrade questioned.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock asked.

"It's not obvious to me." John stated. He looked at me like I would know this answer, but I was stumped as well.

"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring. Her coat-it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under the collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind." Sherlock made the motion of turning up his collar, "She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket, but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have traveled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So where has there been heavy rain and strong wind," Sherlock pulled his phone out of his coat, "within the radius of that travel time? Cardiff." Sherlock held out his phone so we could see the weather report in Cardiff.

"It's fantastic." John voiced.

"It's freaking magnificent." I smiled, I really felt like starting the slow clap.

Sherlock whirled around to face the both of us and said quietly, "Do you really do that out loud?"

"Sorry." I mumbled and I was back to looking at my feet.

"I'll shut up." John said.

Sherlock waved the notion away, "No, it's fine." He gave us both a soft smile that was genuine.

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade wasn't really impressed with Sherlock's deduction, probably from seeing it many times already.

Sherlock looked around the room again, "Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is." Sherlock thought aloud.

"She was writing Rachel?"

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German. Of course she was writing Rachel! No other word it can be. Is Evangeline the only person who uses her brain around here other than me? But the question is, why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"So how do you know she had a suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

Before Sherlock could answer, I figured out where the splotches came from and I yelled, "The splotches on her leg!" I was so happy to have figured it out I couldn't stop the wide smile or the small peal of laughter.

"Very good Evangeline." Sherlock praised, "Back of her right leg is tiny splashes on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious, it could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night." Sherlock bent down again by her feet with his magnifying glass.

"Now where is it? What have you done with it?" Sherlock asked.

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade answered.

Sherlock looked up from her feet at him, "Say that again."

"There wasn't a never was a suitcase." Lestrade spat.

Sherlock jumped up and rushed out of the room, "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase?"

"Sherlock, there was no case!" We followed Lestrade out of the room. Sherlock was already going down the stairs. John and I stood beside Lestrade at the foot of the stairs.

"They take the poison themselves. They chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs. Even you lot couldn't miss them." Sherlock ran down the stairs.

"Oh, right, yeah, thanks." Lestrade spoke sarcastically, then snapped, "And?"

"It's murder, all of them." Sherlock looked up to say, "I don't know how. They're not suicides, they're killings. Serial killings. Just as Evangeline guessed." Both men looked at me at the point, but I was still looking down at Sherlock.

Sherlock clapped, "We got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to." Sherlock looked far too happy about the serial killer.

"What makes you say that?" Lestrade asked.

"Her case? Come on, where is it? Did she eat it?" Sherlock asked arms wide.

"The killer has her case?" I asked.

"Yes." Sherlock answered, "It's refreshing to finally have someone around I don't have to explain everything to." He whispered to himself but I heard it all the same.

"Someone was here and took her case." Sherlock explained to Lestrade and John. He must have thought of something because his eyes grew wild, "So the killer must have driven her here, forgot the case was in the car."

"She could've checked into a hotel, left her case there?" John offered.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She color coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never left any hotel with her hair still looking… Oh… Oh!" Sherlock clapped his hands together. He looked ecstatic.

"Sherlock?" I asked, worried.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"Serial killers, always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Sherlock said happily to himself.

"We can't just wait." Lestrade shouted down the stairs.

"He already made it." I said to myself, not thinking they or Sherlock could hear me.

"Again, Evangeline, you impress me." Sherlock said, "Oh we're done waiting. Look at her, really look. Houston, we have a mistake. Get onto Cardiff. Find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends are. Find Rachel!" Sherlock disappeared from the view of the stairs.

"Yes, of course, but what's the mistake." Lestrade yelled.

Sherlock appeared for only a second to yell, "PINK!" Then he was gone again.

I glanced back at the body, then thought, "The killer found her case, her…pink case in his car and he knew it had to get rid of it."

"How do you know that?" John asked. Lestrade was looking at me for answers too.

"It's elementary, my dear Watson." I smiled.


	4. Is this the part

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 4: Is this the part…**

Thanks for all the reviews on the last chapters, I'm loving that you're loving my story. Keep reviewing, it makes me write faster lol.

_Evie's POV_

* * *

Lestrade was too annoyed with the whole conversation with Sherlock to listen to what I had to say, not that it bothered me. John however listened to me as we walked down the stairs and took off this annoying onesies.

"What makes you think it's going to be pink?" John asked.

"She color coordinates everything, John. I'm willing to bet money that the case is going to be pink." I said sliding on my coat.

"Really?" John smirked, "How much are you willing to bet?"

I returned the smile, "How's twenty pounds sound?" I challenged. It's all I had on me.

"Oh, you're on! Now they just have to find it." John slid on his coat.

"Hopefully it will turn up." I agreed. When John and I were ready to go, I looped arms with his good arm, then we headed out of the building. So far, we haven't seen Sherlock anywhere. Of course, the one person that happened to notice our lost expressions was Sally, but she was better than Anderson.

"He's gone." She said as we neared the police tape.

"Sherlock Holmes?" John asked.

"Yeah, he just took off. He does that." Was it just me, or did she sound way too bitter when it came to Sherlock?

"Is he coming back?" I asked, but even I doubted the possibility. He was way into the zone when he left. He's probably somewhere figuring out the case or who knows already solved it.

"Didn't look like it." She eyed me with disdain. I giggled internally, she figured out I was just messing with her about the white stuff on her lips.

"Right." John looked around, trying to figure something out. Sally turned away, back to the officer thinking she was done with us.

"Sorry, where are we?" John asked. I admired him for still using a polite tone, whereas I just wanted to smack her until her frizzy hair was straight.

"Brixton." She looked at him like he was stupid for asking.

"Do you know where we can get a cab? It's just a…well, my leg." John looked like he didn't want to mention his leg. He wasn't the type of man who wanted to admit he had a weakness. Or maybe he knew it was psychosomatic, but he still depended on the cane and still limped.

She lifted the tape for us, "Try the main road."

Both of us walked under it and we were ready to walk away when she called out to us, "You're not his friends. He doesn't have friends. And you're certainly not his girlfriend. So who are you?"

John stuttered, "I'm nobody. I just met him."

Sally looked at me, "I'm a librarian." I held my chin up. _Wow Evie, three years of acting like a frightened rabbit and now you're growing a backbone. Well done, you didn't call yourself a nobody!_

"Bit of advice then. Stay away from that guy." She said.

Without blinking John asked, "Why?"

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day showing up won't be enough. One day he'll be standing over the body and Sherlock Holmes will be the one who put it there." Sally was smirking the whole time.

"And why would he do that?" John asked.

"Because he's a psychopath. Psychopaths get bored." She answered like it was obvious.

I couldn't hold back the snort any longer, "Please forgive me if I don't take your advice."

"Excuse me?"

"First of all, your tuition is certainly lacking, you thought an obvious serial killing was serial suicides. It's not the first time a serial killer chose to use this method of killing. Secondly, I've met psychopaths. Sherlock isn't one."

Sally opened her mouth to retort but was called by someone. She walked away, but called again, "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

John and I walked several feet away before he asked, "How do you know psychopaths?"

I frowned, "It's one of those things, I'm not ready to talk about."

John nodded, "Has it anything to do with Liam's death?"

I swallowed, "It has everything to do with it and further back than that." John gave me a calculating look, "Don't worry; you're not in danger with being around me. The people responsible are gone."

"If you ever want to talk about it, you know I'm here for you, Evie." John offered.

"I've already told you more than I've told Mike in three years of knowing him." I admitted, "Thank you. I know I should talk about it, but…" It's hard to admit that my husband was murdered by my...

"I understand what you're getting at." He said, "And whenever you want to talk, I'll be here."

I smiled, "The same goes for you." John returned the smile and together we walked. After a few feet a payphone started to ring. We stared at it strangely for a moment, then started walking again. Behind me, I heard it stop ringing. I just shook my head and kept going.

No taxis seemed to be taking customers tonight, so we continued to walk until we found one. I was getting to the point that when I saw Sherlock again, I was going to rip out all of his beautiful curls.

We passed a chicken restaurant, the phone inside starting to ring as well. John and I stopped again to notice it. I wasn't bothered by that phone, it could just be someone placing a delivery, but John was suspicious of it. Just as a worker went to answer the phone, it stopped ringing.

"Come one, John. I'm starting to lose the feeling in my nose." I gently pulled on his arm.

"Alright…" He stared at the phone a moment longer before walking.

We stopped again, when a payphone several feet away from the restaurant started to ring. John went inside the booth and answered. I waited in the small doorway, "Who is it?" I asked.

I felt a new shiver go down my spine, not like the ones Sherlock gives me, but an icy chill, as I watched John look up at the cameras as they turned away. _Please God, don't let it be like in that movie Phone Booth where you have to keep talking to the killer or you die!_

John asked who the person was, but I don't think he got an answer. We watched two more cameras turn away from us. John looked at me, his face was an emotionless mask, but in his eyes I saw panic.

"John, what's going on?" I panicked.

"He wants us to get in the car." He replied.

"Who?" I asked.

"He didn't say. Don't worry; nothing is going to happen to you." John squeezed my hand. He looked so calm that I couldn't help but believe him. He was a soldier too, he could handle this. He's handled worse…right?

John climbed into the black car first, then me. He sat down by a pretty girl whose only eyes were on her phone. I sat across from him. My eyes darted all over the inside of the car, looking for any place that might conceal weapons. I wish I had Sherlock's nifty ability or maybe even Sherlock, I bet he'd be wonderful in a situation like this.

"Hello." John said to the girl. I didn't need Sherlock's ability to see that John was attracted to her. Ah, men…we could be killed in a few moments and all John thought about was a pretty girl.

"Hi." She looked up from her phone and smiled then looked back at her phone, then up at me, "Hello." She said. I just gave her a simple wave, then went back to panicking and looking around.

"What's your name, then?" John asked. I rolled my eyes as I felt as the edge of the seats, nothing. Damn! I wanted something that could be used as a weapon. I opened my bag, inside were books-I could smack the person? Loads of candy wrappers, I should really clean this thing out. My wallet, I couldn't bribe the person into sparing us, I only had twenty pounds. Ah, a nail file, I could always stab the person! But I doubted it would work, though I pocketed it none the less.

"Uh…Anthea."_ Liar, who needs to think that long about what their name is?_

"Is that your real name?" John asked. Good, boy you weren't too distracted by her legs to miss that obvious little thing. In her defense, she did have great legs.

She giggled, "No."

John looked around, "I'm John."

She smiled at her phone, "Yes, I know. And that's Evangeline."

I froze, "How do you know our names?"

John asked like the calm I wish I could be, "Any point in asking where I'm going?"

"None at all, John, and you'll find out why when you get there, Evangeline."

"Evie." I bit out. She looked up at me, "Everyone calls me Evie."

Everyone but Sherlock Holmes to my great annoyance, why couldn't he just call me Evie? Oh, that's right, it sounds like a child's name. I liked Evie, it sounded cute. I told everyone to call me it; the only person I ever allowed or wanted to call me Evangeline was Liam. Well, he actually refused to call me Evie too. He said Evangeline was a beautiful name and so it should never be shortened. My bartender, he was always such a romantic.

"Evie." 'Anthea' repeated with a friendly smile. I didn't think she was a threat, but I didn't want to get close to her if she was.

After several nerve-wracking moments, we pulled into an abandoned warehouse. From up ahead I saw a singular man leaning on an umbrella. John stepped out first and turned to me. I was glued to the seat and paralyzed by fear. I was such a chicken, I remember three years ago when I was brave. I wish I was that way again.

"Evie, it will be alright." John said soothingly.

I nodded and moved out of the car, "Is this the part where we die?" I asked quietly in John's ear. My go to thing when I'm nervous or uncomfortable is humor.

"No, Evie. This isn't the part." John answered, fighting back a smile. That made me a little better right away.

We neared the man; he looked very much in charge. He had a good posture and an arrogant aura about him that I have only seen with Sherlock. He wore a nice expensive suit, even his umbrella looked expensive. The man screamed criminal mastermind.

"Have a seat, John, Evangeline." He pointed at the two chairs with his umbrella.

"You know I've got a phone. Very clever and all that, but uh, could just phone me… on my phone." John said, making me chuckle again. John made no action to sit down so neither did I.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place. The leg must be hurting you. Sit down." This was about Sherlock?

"I don't want to sit down." John scowled.

"You don't seem very afraid like Ms. Evangeline there who clings to your arm." He said looking at the two of us.

"You don't seem very frightening." John retorted. John was making me feel braver; I loosened my grip on his arm somewhat and took a deep breath. I could do this, I've met scarier men.

The man threw back his head and laughed, "Yes, the bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" Did he just call John stupid? Oh no he didn't! Anger coursed through me and I glared at him clenching my jaw. My hold loosened a bit more on John's arm.

"What are your connections to Sherlock Holmes?" He asked, his voice filled with bite.

"I don't have one. I barely know him. We met him yesterday." John answered, thinking about it.

The man turned to me, "And yours, Evangeline?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, "It's Evie and I don't see how that is any of your business." I snapped.

"Oh, feeling a bit braver aren't we?" He laughed, "I see why Sherlock likes you." The arsehole turned back to John, "Since yesterday, both of you moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week, _Evangeline_?"

I narrowed my eyes at him more, "Who are you?"

"An interested party." He replied, smirking at me. He knew he was getting under my skin.

It was John's turn to ask a question, "Interested in Sherlock, why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has?" He said. I hate how people keep bringing up how Sherlock doesn't have friends. If he doesn't, he needs one, yupe, I've decided. I'm going to be Sherlock's friend…even if he drives me totally mad.

"I'm the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having." He said twiddling that stupid umbrella of his.

"And that would be?" I asked.

"An enemy." Immediately I got defensive. What if he tries to hurt us because we are around Sherlock? What if he tries to hurt Sherlock? I completely let go of John's arm and glared at him.

"An enemy?" John and I repeated.

"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch enemy. He does love to be dramatic." I quirked a brow and lifted my arms indicated that he did bring us to a freaking warehouse in the middle of nowhere after reenacting a scene from Phone Booth.

John huffed, "Well, thank God, you're above all that." Then both of our phones received a text message, the text sound echoed throughout the building.

"I hope I'm not distracting you." The man said as we read the messages.

_Baker Street. Come at once if convenient. –SH_

I showed him my phone and he showed me his, they were the same message. How did Sherlock get my number?

"Not distracting me at all." John replied pocketing his phone.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

John opened his mouth, but I answered instead, "Like I said earlier, I don't see how that's any of your concern."

The man narrowed his eyes at me, "It could be."

John shook his head, "It really couldn't."

He dug throughout his coat and pulled out a notebook, "If you really do move into," he glanced at the notebook's page, "221B Baker Street, I would be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to…ease your way."

"Why?" We asked again. John and I were really getting good at speaking at the same time. Some people might think we're related now. Except for the fact we look completely different.

"Because you're not a wealthy man and neither are you a wealthy woman." He put the notebook back into his coat.

"In exchange for what?" John asked.

"Information. Nothing indiscreet, nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to." The man smiled. I hated that smile, I really did.

I snarled, "Why?"

He didn't look to friendly back at me when he answered, "I worry about him, constantly." I scoffed, like I believe that. I think the only thing he worried about is if he's handkerchiefs were really silk.

"That's nice of you." John ignored it.

"But I prefer for various reasons that my concern would go unmentioned. We have what you might call a difficult relationship." He asked, looking at the tip of his umbrella.

Our phones dinged again. I dug mine out, again, it was from Sherlock. I laughed silently reading the message, then passed it to John. This time, he didn't even bother digging his phone out.

_If inconvenient, come away. –SH_

"No." John replied after reading the message.

"But I haven't mentioned a figure." The man wasn't shocked by our answer.

"We don't care. The answer is no." I shook my head.

He laughed again, "You're both very loyal, very quickly."

"No, I'm not. We're just not interested." John was holding wonderfully onto his temper and his morals. He earned so many points in my book.

The man pulled out his little notebook, "'Trust issues' it says here. Both of you have them."

John swallowed, "What's that?" Both of us looked at the book in anger and fear of what it had to say.

"Could it be that you decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?" the man flipped through the book.

"Who says I trust him?" John said, the slightest bit of panic leaked into his voice.

"Either of you seem like the kind of make friends easily. Especially you, Evangeline." He looked at a page that my name was written on at the top in fine writing.

I growled, "Are we done?"

He looked up, "You tell me."

I started to walk-no stomp off. John was right beside me. My temper flared big and I was starting to see red.

"I imagine people already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from her left hand that's not going to happen." The man stopped us. I had a feeling this time he was talking directly to John. If he spoke to me again, I think I'd shove that umbrella up his arse.

"My what?" John asked. A vein in his neck twitched, John was very close to exploding.

"Show me." The man smirked.

John stood motionless for a moment before holding up his empty hand. The man walked up and reached out of it, "Don't." John started to pull his hand away, but the look the man gave him stopped him. The look said, 'do you what to know what I meant by your hand'. Once again guessing.

The man held John's hand for a moment, then said, "Remarkable."

"What is?" John snipped.

"Most people blunder round this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk around with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?" The man went on.

"What's wrong with my hand?" John asked.

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service." I was liking this man less and less.

John was the same way, "Who the hell are you? How do you know that?"

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson. You miss it."

He leaned in and whispered, "Welcome back." Then he walked away, "Time to choose a side Dr. Watson, Ms. Evangeline." My phone chirped again, I dug it out.

_Could be dangerous. –SH_

Anthea walked up, still looking down at her phone, "I'm to take you home. Address?"

John and I answered at the same time, "221 Baker Street."

* * *

**Sorry there wasn't any Sherlock, but don't worry he'll be in the next one. **


	5. Real Life

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 5: Life Real**

Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter, it makes me really happy to know that you like my story and like Evie. A little bit more of her personality in in this chapter. I had a fun time writing it.

_Evie's POV_

* * *

John stopped off at another address before we headed to Baker Street; I went in with him in a small empty flat. We were only in there a moment, so John could get a gun and then we were out. John tried to make more conversation with 'Anthea' but she was too absorbed into her phone to be a decent conversationalist. As soon as the car parked in front of 221B Baker Street, I hopped out of the car, glad to be on familiar ground.

I waited for John to get out of the car before knocking, "You tried to get her number didn't you?" I asked when he stood beside me.

"I asked her if she ever had any free time. She said she had lots then said goodbye." John frowned.

I playfully grimaced, "That burn had to hurt." I joked.

"Can't blame a man for trying." John bumped shoulders with me. I bumped him back when Mrs. Hudson opened the door for us.

"Oh, there you are, dears. I was worried Sherlock scared you off when he didn't come back with you." Mrs. Hudson let us inside.

"We're fine, but speaking for Sherlock, where is he?" I asked sickly sweet. I had something to settle with that curly haired, sharp cheek-boned jerk.

"He's upstairs." She answered.

"Evie, what are you going to do?" John asked as I rushed up the stairs.

"I'm going to make him deduce how I'm going to kill him." I replied. I heard the John's footsteps and the clanking sound of his cane, "Don't try to stop me!" I'm not above hurting a psychosomatic cripple; I didn't add that because I knew how angry he got when his leg was mentioned.

I opened the door to hear a wonderfully erotic groan, I pushed whatever thoughts I had about it. Sherlock laid on the settee, clenching and unclenching his fist as he held onto his arm. He didn't even notice me glaring at him, let alone me bursting into the room. John entered the room right after me and he broke the silence since I was staring at Sherlock debating how I was going to murder him for abandoning us, "What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brainwork." Sherlock showed us his arm. Three nude-colored patches were on his arm.

"When I'm done with you, you will be smoking." I grumbled under my breath. I didn't appreciate being left behind and then encountering that man. I really wanted to hurt him so bad, but I remembered my promise to myself how I was going to be his friend. I won't hurt him…yet.

"Good news for breathing." John remarked.

"Ugh breathing, breathing's boring." Sherlock scoffed. He titled his head slightly and looked at me for a moment. I raised an eyebrow in question, but he didn't say anything to me.

"Is that three patches?" John walked by looking at his arm.

"It's a three patch problem." Sherlock righted his head, no longer looking at me. He was completely straight and holding his hands under his chin in a prayer-like manner.

"Well?" John asked, but Sherlock didn't say anything.

"You asked us to come. I'm assuming it's important." John continued.

Sherlock opened his eyes, "Oh yea, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

I deadpanned, "You mean to tell me the reason you wanted us was to borrow John's phone?"

"It doesn't have to be John's, it could use yours. Don't want to use mine, there's a chance it could be recognized. It's on the website." Sherlock replied, ignoring my harsh tone.

"Mrs. Hudson has a phone." John looked at me; he couldn't believe this arse either.

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting, but she didn't hear me." Sherlock informed.

"Your laziness astounds me." I sighed.

"We were on the other side of London." John snapped.

"There was no hurry." Sherlock said. John was staring down at him like he wanted to smother Sherlock with a pillow.

I pulled my phone out, "Here you go." Sherlock stuck his hand out; I sighed angrily and placed it in his hand. He put his hands back together prayer fashion with my phone stuck in the middle.

"So this is about the case?" John questioned. I sat down at the edge of the settee where Sherlock's feet were.

"Her case." Sherlock whispered with his eyes closed.

"Her case?" I questioned. Was he referring to her suitcase or her murder?

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at me in annoyance, "Really, Evangeline, I thought you were following along with me. The murder took her suitcase, first big mistake."

I scowled at him, "Aren't you supposed to be using my phone, texting or whatever?" I was ignored, again.

"Ok, he took her case, so?" John asked from the middle of the room.

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it. On my desk, there's a number. I need you to send a text." Sherlock held out my phone.

"You brought us here to send a text." John asked.

"Text, yes. Would you hand Evangeline the number, it's on my desk." Sherlock replied, holding out my phone more but it wasn't quite within my reach. I bent down, putting my hand beside his hip while still on the arm and reached for my phone. In the split second of leaning over him, my eyes met. His hand felt cold, but it was soft. I couldn't stop the blush that took over my face, hopefully my face was still red from the cold, maybe Sherlock wouldn't notice.

John looked out the window, making Sherlock notice which cut off our eye contact-not that I'm complaining, "What's wrong?" He asked.

"I just met of friend of yours." John replied, looking out for any black cars.

Sherlock looked outwardly shocked, "A friend?" His body tensed.

"An enemy." John specified.

Sherlock looked relaxed again, "Oh, which one?" It was my turn to look shocked.

"How many do you have?" I let out a surprised chuckle.

Sherlock simply smiled for a brief second before his face turned back to his emotionless mask. I decided to answer for him, "He said he was your archenemy. Or least you would consider him that."

Sherlock looked so serious when he asked, "Did he offer you money to spy on me?" He was looking directly at me.

"Yes." I replied without hesitating.

"Did you take it?" He asked.

John answered, "No."

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Sherlock replied.

John looked like he wanted to hit Sherlock again, but I just chuckled. Was it awful that I found everything Sherlock said funny? Well, I have been told in the past, I have a strange sense of humor; it wasn't my fault I liked dry, cold humor.

"Who was he?" John asked.

"The most dangerous man who've ever met and not my problem at the moment." Sherlock replied. I stiffened and looked at Sherlock, was I in danger. Sherlock met my eyes and guessed what I was thinking; he merely shook his head no. That was enough for me and I immediately let out a sigh in relief.

"On my desk, the number. Hand it to Evangeline." Sherlock ordered. John didn't have to get it for me, but John grabbed it, he read it aloud, "Jennifer Wilson. That was…hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes, yes." Sherlock answered impatiently, "That's not important. Just hand it over to Evangeline." John came over handing it to me.

Once I got the number, his majesty, gave me new orders, "Enter the number." He said.

"I know how to send a text, Sherlock." I said.

"Are you doing it?" He asked.

"Yes." I huffed.

"Have you done it?" He asked.

I dropped the phone and the number into my lap and just stared at Sherlock for a moment. I did not like to be rushed. Sherlock either felt my stare or didn't hear me clicking away and he opened his eyes to see my dark look.

"Evangeline," He said, "enter the number."

I raised an eyebrow at him, but I picked back my phone and finished entering the number. I sent him another dark look before finishing.

He took it as a cue to dictate, "These words exactly: What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street. Please Come."

I typed the message quickly, then looked up at Sherlock. My angry look gone, replaced by a worried look, "You blacked out?"

"What? No, No!" Sherlock hopped up and walked over the coffee table to his chair by the fireplace, "Type it and send it quickly."

I sent the message and went over to him, sending what he had, it was a pink case. I walked over beside Sherlock and knelt down in front of it. John saw the case like it grew a mouth and started to talk. I looked up at him and smirked, I won our bet.

"Pay up, John." I smiled, looking through the case.

Sherlock looked at me strangely, "Pay up, pay up for what?"

"I told John the case would be pink. We made a bet on it and as you can see, I won." I smiled proudly. Sherlock tilted his head and he appeared to look like he was studying me. I looked away back to the case. It was filled with pink lingerie, an outfit, and a romance novel.

John recovered, "That's…that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

Sherlock sighed, "Yes, obviously."

Sherlock took on an annoyed and said sarcastically, "Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her."

"We never said that." John replied.

Sherlock huffed, "Why not? Based on the message I just had Evangeline send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

I flipped through the pages of the woman's book, "No it isn't. A killer wouldn't show us this nor make me send a message. He'd be careful." I looked up at Sherlock, "Plus, you're not a killer. You don't give off that vibe. Strange yes, killer no." I didn't see what face Sherlock made because I went back searching through the suitcase. I felt like something was missing. Now when I go on a trip, what do I pack in my bag…?

"Do people usually assume you're the killer?" John asked. In his voice, I could tell he felt bad for Sherlock as well.

"Now and then, yes." Sherlock jumped into his seat so that he was perched on it and with his butt on the back of the chair.

"How did you find this?" John asked, he sat down in the chair across from Sherlock. I looked up, curious to hear how he did it too.

"By looking." Sherlock looked down at the case in thought.

"Where?" John prodded.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves, practically a man, which is statically more likely. So obviously he felt compelled to get rid of it the moment he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake." Sherlock explained.

I looked up from the case to look at him, absorbing with new information. Was this the reason Sherlock skipped out while we were still at the crime scene? He knew the killer threw out the case and was looking for it?

"I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip." Sherlock said.

"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" John asked. Come on, John; don't forget I'm the one who guessed it before we got here, I thought. And you owe me twenty pounds.

Sherlock threw up his hands, "Well, it had to be pink, obviously." He sure loved saying the word 'obviously.' I rolled my eyes mentally.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John asked me.

Sherlock didn't seem to realize it was a rhetorical question and answered, "Because you're an idiot." John and I snapped out gaze up at him scowling. It wasn't directed at me, but that doesn't mean I didn't like it. What gave him the right to be so rude?

Sherlock noticed and did what I think was his way of apologizing, "No, no, no don't be like that. Practically everyone is… well, maybe except for Evangeline."

"Maybe?" I repeated growling, I didn't like my intelligence being insulted. I had a bit of a pride issue myself when it came to my intellect. Not everyone was a super observant mega genius!

"Now, look, do you see what's missing?" Sherlock gestured to the open suitcase.

John sighed, "From the case? How could I?"

"Would you like to give it a go, Evangeline?" Sherlock asked. I stared at the case and thought back to my question before. What did I take with me when I get on trips? A book, she had one. Night clothes and undies, she had that. Tons of candy, I doubt that's what's missing. My art supplies and a sketch book, also highly less likely. Then my eyes shot to the phone charger in the bag. How could I be so stupid and miss it?

"Her phone." I said hesitantly praying I wasn't getting it wrong. I looked up at Sherlock to see the corners up his lips quirk and that made feel proud of myself. I sat up straighter and smiled smugly.

"Very good, Evangeline." Sherlock praised then looked at John, "Her phone." He repeated.

"Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one. There's her number there, Evangeline just texted it."

"Maybe she just left it at home?" John offered.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home." Sherlock explained.

John thought about it for a moment, the thought of potentially sending a text message to a murderer finally dawned on him, "Why did Evie just send that text?" The protectiveness was heard in his voice.

"Well, the question is where is her phone now?" Sherlock enlightened. I chewed my lip, thinking about it. This reminded me so much when I used to watch crime shows with my Dad back in Ireland. He was so good at figuring out who the murderer was and how and why they did it. I smiled, he'd really like Sherlock.

John frowned, "She could have lost it."

"Yes, or…" Sherlock said, letting us think about it.

"The murderer, you think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe she took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murder has her phone." Sherlock theorized.

John looked freaked, "Sorry, what are we doing? Did Evie just text a murderer? What good will that do?" John asked. Not a second later, my phone started to ring-Number Withheld.

Sherlock hovered over my shoulder to look at the phone, his breath so close to my ear again.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her." Sherlock said. The phone continued to ring in my hand with the three of us staring down at it, John looked at it like it was going to explode, Sherlock viewed it with mild curiosity, and I just wanted the person to stop calling.

"If somebody just found the phone, they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer…" Sherlock stopped talking, finally the phone stopped ringing. Sherlock shut the suitcase closed, "would panic." Sherlock jumped up out of his chair and grabbed his jacket.

John looked at him strangely, "Have you talked to the police?"

Sherlock buttoned up his jacket, "Four people are dead. There's no time to talk to the police." I was waiting for him to add on an 'obviously', sadly it didn't come. My stomach growled then and I hopped hoping to find something to snack on, I hadn't eaten anything all day.

"Oh, why are you talking to me?" John asked incredulously.

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull." Sherlock replied, he actually sounded upset.

I laughed loudly when I heard it and called out, "Aw, you poor thing." I spoke in a baby-voice. He didn't say anything back. I opened some cabinets but he had nothing. The only thing in the fridge was body parts; I'm not even going to ask. I shut the refrigerator wanted to gouge my eyes out to forget the horror show in there. The only thing in here seemed to be tea, body parts, and lab equipment. Who doesn't have snacks?!

John sounded like he was pouting, "So I'm basically filling in for your skull?"

"Relax you're doing fine. Well…"

John snapped, "Well, what?"

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly." I heard the disgust from the kitchen. I gave up my search and headed back into the living room. I was too scared to check the other places in the kitchen, who knows what I would find.

"You want me to come with you?"

"I like company when I go out and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention so…problem?" Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck. I snorted thinking about Sherlock talking to a skull.

"Yea, Sergeant Donovan…" My smile wiped away at the mention of that trollope.

"What about her?" Sherlock scowled.

"She said you get off on this. You enjoy it." John replied.

Sherlock smirked, "And I said 'dangerous' and here you are." Sherlock left the room quickly. John sat in the chair for a moment, then cursed and followed him. I just sat in the chair in the empty room. I think I had enough excitement for one day, I think I'll head home, but Vivian would probably still have 'company'.

I was still thinking it through when I heard a loud and very impatient, "Evangeline!" I smirked but made no move to get up. Several long minutes later, I thought Sherlock and John would be gone by now but I was wrong. I heard loud stomping coming up the stairs. Sherlock stood in the doorway scowling at me.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"Why are you still sitting there?" Sherlock demanded.

"Well, I'm about to go home." I grabbed my coat and slipped it on followed by my scarf.

"And do what? Hear your flatmate moan and keep you up all night? We've been through this before, Evangeline; I know that you know you want to see this case through." He scooped up my newspaper holding it up for me to see, "And get the answers to your questions! Now, come along and I'll buy you dinner."

I narrowed my eyes and thought about it, I opened my mouth to say no but Sherlock wasn't having it.

"And I'll buy you dessert." Oh, God, he knows my weakness. I can never turn down anything sweet. How dare he bribe me!

He smirked, knowing that he just won and God, I hated it. I narrowed my eyes at him again, "Alright, I'll go with you, but that desert better be good…and expensive."

He chuckled, then spun around and rushed down the steps. Damn that man can move fast, but then again, his legs were super long. I ran down the steps after him. Beside the door, John waited.

"He's not forcing you into going, is he?" John asked.

"No, he's bribing me." I answered.

"With what?" John's face screwed up in confusion.

"With a dessert." I smiled at him, then turned to smile at Sherlock, "So why aren't we taking a taxi?"

"Where are we going?" John put his own question in.

"Northumberland Street is a five-minute walk from here." Sherlock replied to both our questions in one go.

"You think he's stupid enough to show up here?" John asked.

"No, I think he's brilliant enough." Sherlock smiled, "I love the brilliant ones; they're always so desperate to get caught." Our hands swung by our sides as we walked; somehow my hand went inside Sherlock's. We both looked down at our hands, then slowly pulled them away.

"Why?" John asked.

"Appreciation. Applause. At long last, the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius John, it needs an audience." Sherlock explained.

John muttered, "Yeah." I knew what he was thinking, we were Sherlock's audience.

Sherlock spun around to walk backwards and look around, "This is his hunting ground. Right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them?"

Cops…cabbies…and ice cream trucks. Forget about that last one, when I'm starving all I can think about is food.

"Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?" Sherlock questioned.

"I don't know. Who?" John asked.

"Please tell us, oh wise one." I said.

"I haven't the faintest. Hungry?" Sherlock cut across the street to an Italian restaurant without getting our reply. John and I shared a look, then followed him.

Sherlock held the door open for me, but didn't wait for John. The host looked up at Sherlock, through him a smile, then gestured to a book beside the window.

"Thank you, Billy." Sherlock said and slid into the booth.

"You've been here a lot, I'm guessing." I stated. I slid in next to him, then John next to me.

Sherlock ignored me, again, and ordered, "22 Northumberland Street, keep your eyes on it." I turned into my seat to look out the window but turned back around. Sherlock could handle looking at a street by himself. If he could read's someone's story by the wrinkles, then he wouldn't miss out on anything important by looking alone.

"He isn't going to ring the doorbell. He'd need to be mad." John commented shrugging off his coat. He then helped me take off mine.

Sherlock watched the street like a hawk, "He has killed four people."

John nodded, saying ok. I twiddled my thumbs waiting and wanting to say something when Sherlock hand covered mine, "Stop that, it's annoying." His hand stayed there even after I stopped. After a while, I realized I didn't mind, his hand was soft and it was thawing mine from the cold.

Sadly, it didn't last long, the manager walked to our table so Sherlock took his hand away. My hands got cold again from the absence, so I stuck them between my thighs. The manager placed three menus on the table after shaking Sherlock's hand. His as bigger man with long gray hair tied back. He seemed to be a sweet man by the way he smiled when walking over to the table.

"Sherlock, anything on the menu, whatever you want free." He smiled at Sherlock, "On the house, for you and your date." The man looked directly at me. It took me a moment to realize he thought Sherlock and I were together.

"What?! Oh no…we're…friends. Nothing more." I spluttered blushing, "Just friends." I repeated. Sherlock's gaze snapped back at me when I said friends.

"How could anyone be just friends with a beautiful lady like yourself?" He asked to only make me blush worse.

"T-that's all we are." I stuttered. The man just smiled and winked at me. He looked at John like Mrs. Hudson did when she thought he and Sherlock were together.

John noticed right away, "He's not my date either." The look John gave him had me reaching for the menu to hide my laughter. I turned my face away from John towards Sherlock and closed my eyes and silently laughed. If anyone saw me, they'd probably thought I was having a fit or something.

"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked. He knew my answer so he was asking John.

"This man got me off a murder charge." The man said amazed. I opened my eyes and lowered the menu, eager to hear any tale about Sherlock.

"This is Angelo." Sherlock introduced, "Three years ago, I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a practically vicious triple murder, that Angelo was in a completely different part of town house-breaking."

Angelo shook up our hands; he placed a sloppy yet gentle kiss on my hand, "He cleared my name." I smiled at him and his clear respect towards Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't notice, "I cleared it a bit." He continued to look out the window, he only looked away to see me wipe the trace amounts of saliva from Angelo's kiss onto the seat. I wasn't a germophobic but I did not like saliva. I shuddered just thinking about it. Liam used to hold me down and lick my face just to annoy me, the only time I didn't mind was when he kissed my neck. That was it, any other time; I was running around trying to wipe the nasty stuff off almost going as far as bathing in germ x.

"Anything happening opposite?" Sherlock's eyes returned back to the street outside.

"Nothing." Angelo looked back at us, "But for this man, I've gone to prison."

"You did go to prison." Sherlock uttered.

Angelo didn't mind it, "I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic." He was looking at John again.

"I'm not his date." John called. I went right back to laughing, this time hiding my smile in my hands.

"Thanks, Evie, for helping me out there." John muttered, "Don't forget to breathe." I held up a thumbs-up to let him know I heard. I laughed in my hands until finally I could calm down.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." Sherlock said. I grabbed the menu and John and ordered from Billy. In record time, we got our food and I tucked into my chicken alfredo. I went ahead and order a large slice of chocolate cheesecake.

Angelo returned later with a candle as promised, it took all my will power not to laugh at it. We were silent except for Sherlock's impatient tapping on the table. And he said my thumb-twiddling was annoying!

John finally broke the awkward silence, "People don't have arch enemies?"

"Sorry?" Sherlock's eyes broke away from the street and he looked at John in confusion.

"In real life, there are no real archenemies in real life, doesn't happen." John said.

"I did." I spoke up.

"You did?" John asked quirking an unbelieving brow at me.

"Yes, her name was Hannah O'Brien. She used to steal my deserts from my lunch box every day before lunch in primary school. I caught her one day and attacked her. I got suspended for three days because I bit her and pulled her hair." I tilted my head up proudly. No one steals my candy and gets away with it.

John looked at me fighting a smile, "Remind me never to get you angry. You bit her, you maverick!"

I playfully growled, "Just never touch my chocolate and you'll be fine."

He laughed then turned to Sherlock, "But other than the Chocolate Queen here, it doesn't happen in real life." We were back to serious.

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull." Sherlock said.

"So who did we meet?" I asked.

Sherlock invaded the question and asked his own, "What do real people have, then, in their real lives?" He finally looked away from the street at us.

"Friends? People they know, people they like, people they don't like. Girlfriends, boyfriends." John went on. _Why do I get the feeling we're heading straight for another awkward moment?_

"Well, as I was saying, dull." Sherlock drawled.

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" He asked. I perked up slightly…but I didn't want to know nor did I care about the answer. I didn't really want to date anyone, I only had a small attraction to Sherlock but that wasn't anything special. Everyday people meet other people that they find attractive, but it doesn't go anywhere. So what I found Sherlock attractive, he was, but that's all I had for him…that a friendship.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." He said. I was both pleased and disappointed by the answer. I didn't delve too deep into those feelings. I mentally shook my head and thought about something else.

John did a double take at Sherlock, "Oh right." _Here comes the awkwardness._

"Do you have a boyfriend?" John asked._ Oh God, I can feel the giggles coming!_

"Which is fine, by the way." _Stop talking John, I'm barely holding on._

Sherlock said quickly, "I know it's fine." _You're not helping, Sherlock! The pressure is building…_

"So you've got a boyfriend, then?" John tried his best to put on a friendly smile, but it just looked weird. I bent my head down and pulled my coat out slightly and around my face to hide it. I slumped far down into my seat. If I didn't see their faces, I wouldn't laugh. What was it being around these two that made me what to laugh so hard?

Sherlock answered again quickly, "No." _Ok, that wasn't that bad._

John nervously laughed, "Right, ok. You're unattached, like me."_ Oh, I know where this is going…_

A moment of silence-the silence before the storm, or in my case the awkward and giggle storm.

"John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work and, while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for anything" Sherlock explained the nicest way he could. _Oh god, she's gonna blow! Run for your lives!_

"I'm not asking…no. I'm just saying it's all fine." John clarified.

"Good." Sherlock said, "Now, Evangeline come out of hiding." That set me off. I laughed and I laughed loud face hiding into my coat. Luckily the loud restaurant and jacket muffled my hysterical laughter. I don't know how long I laughed but I laughed harder and longer than the first few times I've met John and Sherlock.

I finally peaked my head out and laughing while gasping for breath, "I'm…sorry. That….that was just…t-too funny." I gasped again. John joined in but not as hard as me. Sherlock sat in the seat and just watched us.

"Breathe, Evie." John chuckled.

I gasped again and forced myself to stop, "I think that's the hardest I've ever laughed. What's with you two that makes me giggle like a child? I've never been this giggly."

Once I got my breathing back to normal, John asked me, "So Evie, what about you? Any men."

I shot him a look pleading him not to ask. He knew about Liam but I guess it was safe for him to think I would have at least tried to move on after three years. Well I have tried, but none of the men were Liam. It's hard to go back to dating after you married a handsome and wonderful man like him. I'm not looking to date or romance, but I haven't sworn myself to being a widow.

"None. I don't date." I shrugged. I felt Sherlock's eyes on the back of my head. Why would he be interested in my dating life?

"At all?" John asked.

I shrugged again, "I've tried to but…" I swallowed, "I just have better things to do."

John opened his mouth to say something, but he was cut short by Sherlock.

"Look across the street." Sherlock said. I turned around in my seat along with John, "Taxi, stopped. Nobody getting in, nobody getting out. Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. It is clever? Why is it clever?" I was looking at Sherlock as he went on with his conversation with himself. My head tilted to the side.

"That's him." John remarked.

"Don't stare." Sherlock ordered. I thought he was talking to me, but it was to John.

"What? You're staring!" John retorted.

"We can't both stare." Sherlock's eyes didn't leave the taxi until he scooped his and my jacket and my hand pulling me out of the booth with him. He handed me my coat as he left the restaurant. His eyes stayed on the cab as he adjusted his coat.

"What are we doing?" I asked. Sherlock took off running across the street, almost getting hit by a car. He just slid over the car's hood like nothing and took off running. I ran past the car after Sherlock. John was right behind me.

We stopped when we reached the other side of the street. John called, "I got the cab number."

"Good for you." Sherlock held his hands up to his temples, "Right turn, one way, road work, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turns only, traffic lights." Then Sherlock grabbed my head and took off running with me in tow. We bumped into almost every person; Sherlock just shoved them aside rudely. I could hear John apologize to them as we ran.

Sherlock dragged me up several flights of stairs that lead us to the roof, then down from the rooftop on another flight of stairs to a lower rooftop. He let go off my hands to jump off of a small fence. He was kind enough to wait for me. As soon as I landed, he grabbed me by my hand and we ran again.

I was losing energy fast and I just wanted to pass out. My lungs felt like they were on fire and my sides hurt. I wasn't in the best shape, but after this I was joining a gym and cutting back on the candy…ok that was a lie I couldn't cut back but I'd certainly join a gym.

He released my hand again and jumped to another roof. I stopped and looked at him afraid, "Sherlock?"

"I will catch you. Just jump." He said. I took a step back and jumped. I closed my eyes in fear of the fall, but I landed in his arms. I didn't get much of a break, because he grabbed my hand and took off. We didn't even wait for John. How was he going to jump across with his cane? On second thought, how was he able to keep up with us with his cane and limp?

We finally left the rooftops by a large flight of stairs. Every time, Sherlock jumped, he waited for me and caught me. Then we ran without waiting for John. At one point we wide up in some alley ways, Sherlock shouted, "This way!" Of course I was with him since he still had a firm grasp of my arm, but John went the wrong way.

"No, this way!" Sherlock yelled.

Finally we came out of the alleyways. Sherlock let go of my hand as he launched himself on the hood of the cab effectively stopping it. He went around to the back passenger seat and knocked, "Police. Open her up." He was only slightly gasping for breath. John was breathing hard, but not that bad. I felt like I wanted to pass out and die. I had my hands on my knees, breathing very hard. Everything felt like it was on fire.

Sherlock opened the door and looked at him; he let out an aggravated sigh, "No. Teeth, tan...what, Californian. L.A, Santa Monica. Just arrived." The man stared at the three like each of us grew another head. The cabbie…he was surprisingly silent. In fact, he didn't even turn to look at us or in the review mirror.

John asked, "How can you possibly know that?"

"The luggage. Probably your first trip to London, right? Going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you." Sherlock asked the man.

"Sorry, are you guys the police?" He asked. His accent was American.

Sherlock put on a smart ass face, "Yeah. Everything alright?" He flashed a man chuckled, "Yeah." He looked at John and Sherlock like they were freaks but he sent me a wink. _Gross…_

Sherlock smiled, "Welcome to London." Sherlock walked off, leaving the door open. I threw the man a disgusted look, then followed Sherlock. John joined us a moment after closing the door.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down?" John threw up his hands.

"Basically." Sherlock nodded.

I wheezed, "Not the murderer?" I did all that running…for nothing!

Sherlock sighed aggravatedly, "Not the murderer, no."

"Wrong country, good alibi." John said.

"As they go." Sherlock murmured as looking around.

John reached into Sherlock's hand pulling the badge, "Where did you get this? Detective Inspector Lestrade?" John read the badge then looked to Sherlock for an explanation.

"Yea, I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one. I've got plenty at the flat, even have a Sally badge, if you'd like it." Sherlock said asking me.

"I'm good." I waved the thought away. Finally, I got my breath back, but my body still hurt.

John started to chuckle as he looked at the badge.

Sherlock looked at him confused, "What?"

"Nothing just, 'welcome to London." John chuckled again. Sherlock laughed too, but it sounded fake, "Got your breath back?" I looked up to see him looking at the American man pointing us out to a police officer.

"No." I whined, "Can't we take a cab? Or hide? Or let me hop on one of your backs? Be still Sherlock, I'm coming up." I reached for his back.

"No time for time, Evangeline." Sherlock dismissed the idea.

John smiled, "Ready when you are."

"I'm not ready." I pouted, but Sherlock grabbed my hand and we were off again. I was going to be sore in the morning.

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**Hello, my dears what did you think? I loved the part when she was going to hop on Sherlock's back. What was your favorite part? **

** Btw if you're thinking the think where Sherlock grabbed her hand, it wasn't really meant to be a romantic thing. It was more so that Evie wouldn't fall behind since she's not very athletic. **

**Not many clues about her past popped up in this chapter, I want you chopping at the bit to figure out what happened. lol Are you? **

**'Til next time, I love your faces! ^_^**


	6. A Terrible Cabbie

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 6: A Terrible Cabbie**

Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter. I love reading what you think.

_Evie's POV_

* * *

We ran all the way back to Baker Street, we only took a break once we were in the hallway with the door locked. I leaned against the wall beside Sherlock and John once again trying to get control of my breathing. My body burned worse than it did after we ran after the cab. We weren't even being chased but we still ran. I hated running, but never before have I felt so alive.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done." John breathed.

"And you invaded Afghanistan." Sherlock commented, making John and me chuckle breathlessly. He joined in and it sounded genuine.

John breathed, "That wasn't just me. Why aren't we back at the restaurant?"

Sherlock waved the notion away, "Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway."

"So what were we doing there?" I asked.

Sherlock cleared his throat, "Oh, just passing the time and proving a point."

"What point?" John asked.

"You." Sherlock said then called, "Mrs. Hudson, Dr. Watson and Ms. Murphy will be taking the upstairs bedrooms."

"Says who?" John asked.

"Says the man at the door." Sherlock smirked. Not a second later, someone knocked at the door. John left to go answer it and I stood there beside Sherlock.

"So all of that was to prove John's leg was psychosomatic?" I asked.

Sherlock smiled, "That and to prove a point about you?"

"What point?" I asked. Sherlock's smile widened but he didn't answer. I figured I wasn't getting any answers from him so I changed the subject, "You owe me a desert by the way. I wasn't able to eat my cheesecake before we ran after that cab."

Sherlock didn't say a word as he smiled down at me. It was started to unnerve me, but John came in clutching his cane and a white Togo box.

"Um…Angelo told me to give this to you." John handed it over. I opened the lid to find my untouched cheesecake that I was so excited about eating.

I looked up at Sherlock with a smile, "You texted him telling to bring it, didn't you?"

Sherlock shook his head, "I don't know what you're talking about."

I nodded my head slowly, "Uh-huh."

Mrs. Hudson appeared around the corner shaking like a leaf, "Sherlock, what have you done?"

"Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock asked, concerned. There was no way he was faking it.

"Upstairs." She managed to get out before Sherlock and John took off.

"Mrs. Hudson, are you alright?" I asked, I wrapped my arm around her thin shoulders.

"Yes, dear, I'm fine." She still shook.

"Go drink some tea. It will calm your nerves; I'm going to figure out what's going on." I said. I took off running up the stairs bursting into the living room to hear, "What are you doing?"

Sherlock marched right up to Lestrade, who was sitting in his chair. All around the room, people are going through boxes and in the kitchen. What on earth was going on?

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." Lestrade pointed to the pink case.

"You can't just break into my flat." Sherlock snapped.

"You can't withhold evidence." Lestrade countered, "And I didn't break into your flat."

"Well, what do you call this, then?" Sherlock threw his arms out, gesturing to all the people going through his stuff.

"It's a drugs bust." Lestrade replied.

I snorted and John chuckled, "Seriously? This guy, a junkie? Have you met him?"

Sherlock walked over, "John." I didn't like how this was going. I could only look at Sherlock in disappointment.

"I'm sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." John defended.

Sherlock leaned closer to John, "John, you probably want you to shut up now?"

"Yea, but come on…" John looked at him. The look Sherlock gave him said everything.

"You…" I said, I actually felt hurt. I sounded hurt. John and Sherlock looked at me, "You actually do drugs?" I don't know why I was disappointed but I was.

Sherlock looked away and back at John. John was still coming to grips with it, "You?"

Sherlock scowled, "Shut up!" He turned to Lestrade, "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog." Lestrade said.

"What? Anderson?" Sherlock asked.

From out of the kitchen, weasel faced Anderson appeared and gave Sherlock an angry wave. He saw me and winked. I did the most lady-like thing a woman could or should do; I made an audible gag noise.

"Anderson, what are you doing on a drugs bust?" Sherlock questioned. He walked in front of me blocking Anderson from my view.

"Oh, I volunteered." Anderson replied. He was lucky Sherlock was in my way and had several police officers around. I was about ready to stomp his weasely little face.

"They all did." Lestrade explained, "They're not, strictly speaking, on the drugs keen, but they're very keen."

To make everything better, Sally appeared holding a jar of eyeballs, "Are these human eyes?"

"Put those back." Sherlock ordered.

"They were in the microwave." She said disgusted.

"It's an experiment." Sherlock snarled. What could he figure out by keeping eyeballs in a microwave…nevermind I don't what to know.

"Keep looking, guys." Lestrade ordered, "Or you could start helping us properly and I'll make them stand down."

Sherlock was pacing back and forth furiously, "This is childish."

Lestrade retorted, "Well, I'm dealing with a child. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?"

"So you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?" Sherlock snapped.

"It stops being pretend if they find anything." Lestrade informed him.

"I am clean." Sherlock growled.

"Is your flat, all of it?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock rolled up his sleeve to show up nicotine patches, "I don't even smoke."

"Neither do I." Lestrade rolled up his sleeve, "So let's work together."

"After all this, I'm going to need one." I said, running my fingers through my hair. I smoked a little bit while married to Liam and a lot the year following his death. I stopped only last year, though smoking has never been addictive for me. My only addiction has ever been sugar.

John looked at me shocked, "You smoke?"

"When I stressed." I shrugged.

Sherlock and John weren't even paying attention, "We found Rachel."

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked.

"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name, why?" Sherlock thought.

Anderson spoke up, "Never mind that, we found the case. According to _someone_, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath."

Sherlock jerked his head to look at Anderson, "I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research." Sherlock turned back to Lestrade.

Anderson grumbled, "You're nothing more than a freak." Sherlock and Lestrade didn't hear it, but I did.

I turned to Anderson with my hand on my hip and head tilted to the side with a flirty smile, "Anderson?"

"Yes?" He smiled.

My face turned dark, "Shut your ugly weasel face before I use Sherlock's stitching kit to shut it for you." I snarled.

I didn't realize that everyone could hear me, but I could care less. Sherlock watched in confusion but I saw one corner of his lips lift into a smile. It was the tiniest smile, but it reached his eyes.

"Did you just threaten an officer?" Sally asked.

"There's enough stitching for you too." I didn't even look at her. I looked at Lestrade with my head held high. He only shook his head then they got back to the conversation.

"You need to bring Rachel in and you need to question her. I need to question her." Sherlock said.

"She's dead." Lestrade informed.

"Excellent. How, when, and why?" Sherlock spouted off. I looked at him shocked, did he just say a girl's death was excellent.

"Is there a connection? There has to be." Sherlock exclaimed.

"I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically, she's was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter fourteen years ago." Lestrade explained. I frowned and shuffled my feet. I felt for that poor woman, to lose your child before you could have those memories. Liam and I never had the chance to have children; we talked about it and wanted them.

"That's not right." Sherlock turned away from Lestrade, How…why would she do that? Why?"

Anderson had to speak, "Why would she think about her daughter in her last moments? Yeah, sociopath, I can see it now." I threw Anderson a look saying 'one more word, I dare you'.

Sherlock threw him a look too, "She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort, it would have hurt."

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used her death of her daughter somehow." John theorized.

I nodded, I could see that, killers have done it before, "He used her worse moment and got her to kill herself. He could have done it with all the others." Sherlock was pacing back and forth again scratching his head trying to think.

"Yea, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" Sherlock asked harshly. In that moment, I knew Sherlock would never understand if I told him about Liam. He'd probably think I was stupid or childish to want to hold on.

Everyone in the flat stopped what they were doing and stared at Sherlock. Sherlock glanced around at them, and then looked to John and me, "Not good?"

I shook my head slowly and John said, "Bit not good, yeah." John around too, but stopped on me, he gave me a comforting smile. I smiled weakly back.

Sherlock stepped closer to John, "But if you were dying, if you'd been murdered, in your very last seconds what would you say?"

John replied with no emotion, "Please God, let me live."

"Oh, use your imagination." Sherlock scoffed.

"I don't have to." John said in the same cold tone.

I tried to hide myself in a corner, I didn't want Sherlock to ask me, but he saw me and walked right up to me, "What of you, Evangeline? What would you say?" And he did it, he forced me to relive that horrible night.

* * *

_Blood was everywhere, both mine and Liam's. Liam was already dead lying face down on the floor similar to Jennifer Wilson's, but he was lying in his own blood. I held my hand over the stab wound to my stomach. I would have not been stabbed if I didn't try to save Liam._

_I looked at the man I trusted, that I grew up with and loved as a dear friend, "Why? Why are you doing this?" Pain wrecked through my body, the words were hard to say. Breathing was becoming difficult. It felt like a weight was on my chest as my body started to feel lighter._

"_Because you didn't love me." He tried to say coldly but some emotion was there, "If I couldn't have you, Evangeline, then no man could."_

"_You certainly won't have me now." I said falling over. I pulled my hand away from my stomach, more blood gushed out of the wound onto the floor. _

"_Wait! What are you doing?!" He screamed._

"_Dying." I managed to huff a laugh, "You're getting what you wanted." I crawled weakly over to my Liam and lay beside him, not caring the pool of blood I was lying in. I touched his face, "Oh Liam, I'll see you again." _

_My body started to shake violently, but I just looked at Liam's face, "Liam." I whispered. I closed my eyes. I could hear my murderer's screams, but they were muffed. My body felt lighter than before, it felt like I was going to sleep. Everything turned black and I no longer felt the pain, or anything. I was going to see my Liam again…_

* * *

A tear ran down the corner of my eye when I looked up at Sherlock. I didn't say a word, but he stared down at me with confusion. I reached up grasping my locket in a fist, "I don't know what I would say." I lied.

I didn't try to fight nor did I beg. I just gave up. I was dying anyway, so why should I fight. The chances of me getting out of that situation alive were slim. I thought I might as well give in with some dignity next to my husband.

Sherlock looked at me in confusion, he knew I had been lying, but he didn't pry, thank God. He just went right back over to John like I didn't say anything, "Yea, but if you were clever, really clever…Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers, she was clever. She's trying to tell us something."

Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway, "Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock."

Sherlock paced, "I didn't order a taxi. Go away." Sherlock snapped rudely.

Mrs. Hudson didn't even flinch at the rudeness, "Oh, dear, they're making such a mess. What are they looking for?"

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson." John said.

What Mrs. Hudson said took me right out of my depressed funk and had me laughing again, "But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers."

Sherlock at this point looked like he was about to explode as he paced in smaller distances to where he was just walking in a small circle holding his temples growling. All the commotion wasn't good when he was trying to think. He was going to burst in 3…2…1…

He threw his hands up and yelled, "Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe!" I was silently laughing again. Damn this man, for always making me laugh.

"I'm trying to think. Anderson, face with other way, your face is putting me off." Sherlock ordered without looking at Sherlock. This only added to the laughter, "Evangeline, as endearing as your giggles sound, it is distracting!" Sherlock yelled again.

He certainly made me stop laughing, I could only look at his back thinking about what he said. He said my giggles were endearing, as in adorable. Sherlock thought the sound of my laughter was cute. I thought I sounded like a dying seal, I hated hearing my own laughter that's why I covered my face or mouth-to muffle it, but Sherlock Holmes thought my laughter was cute and he didn't even sound sarcastic.

"My face is?" Anderson questioned.

Lestrade called out, "Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Anderson argued.

"Lestrade yelled, "Your back, now, please! Before I let Evie use the stitching kit." I covered my face and stopped the chuckle that wanted to come.

"Come on, think, quick." Sherlock told himself.

"What about your taxi?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled at her making her scurry away. A light bulb went off in Sherlock's head because he started to say, "Oh," and he laughed.

"She was clever, clever, yes. She's cleverer than you lot, and she's dead. Do you see? Do you get?" Sherlock questioned us-Lestrade, who was leaning against Sherlock's desk, John, who was sitting in his chair, and me who was sitting on the arm of John's chair.

"She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him. When she got out of the car, she knew she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer." Sherlock paced as he spoke. This time, he wasn't aggravated, he was confident.

"But, how?" Lestrade asked to stop Sherlock's pacing.

"What…what do you mean how?" Sherlock looked confused.

Lestrade just shrugged in answer. Sherlock probably didn't realize that he hadn't explained or he was an arrogant arsehole who thought we should already know it. I think it was the latter of the possibilities.

Sherlock looked excited, "Rachel!"

We stared blankly at him, "Don't you see? Rachel!" Sherlock smiled again.

I was annoyed now, "What is it, Sherlock?" I snapped, "It is meant to be a code or something to figure out what where the phone is?"

Sherlock almost looked like he wanted to kiss or hug me. Instead, he pulled out a bag of Cadbury Buttons, my favorite chocolate candy and threw it into my lap. He turned to the others and chuckled, "Oh. Look at you lot; you're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be so relaxing. Like the brilliant Evangeline said, Rachel is not a name."

John snapped, "Then what is it?"

Sherlock pointed to the pink case, "John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address." Sherlock went over to his computer. I got up and stood behind him, curious.

John slowly read the pink ladies email address aloud as Sherlock typed in it. I leaned my hip against him as I watched. I felt a little strange because of the closeness but quickly got over it.

"I've been too slow." Sherlock scolded himself.

I patted his shoulder, "We all have our off days."

"Well, I don't." Sherlock retorted.

"It appears you do." I shot back.

"Eat your Buttons, Evangeline." Sherlock said, typing away at the computer, "She didn't even have a phone which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smart phone that's e-mail enabled, so there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address and-all together now-the password is…?"

John and I answered, "Rachel."

"So we can read her e-mail? So what?" Anderson drawled.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street." Sherlock said. I almost choked on a Button laughing.

"We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smart phone; it's got GPS, which means if you lose it, you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man that killed her." Sherlock made the computer do the search.

"Unless he got rid of it." Lestrade said.

"We know he didn't." John replied.

It was taking longer than Sherlock would have liked because he was growling, "Come on, come on!"

Mrs. Hudson ran up the stairs again, "Sherlock, dear, this taxi driver…"

Sherlock jumped out of his chair and towered over Mrs. Hudson, "Mrs. Hudson, isn't time for your evening soother?"

I stood from the spot by the computer, "Must you be an arse to everyone?" I walked to Mrs. Hudson, "Don't let him bother you." I rubbed her arm.

"It's the taxi driver." She explained, "He's getting impatient and rude. Not to mention, he's a bit scary." I looked at her in concern, "Well, if he bothers you again, come and get me." I may not be brave, but I wasn't going to let anyone mess with Mrs. Hudson.

"Ok, dear." She nodded. I walked back over to the computer just in time to see the results. It was here, the phone was here at Baker Street. John and I couldn't say anything for a moment; only stare dumbly at the screen.

Sherlock ignored me and went to Lestrade, "Get vehicles, get a helicopter. We're going to have to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever." Sherlock said.

"We just have a map reference, not a name." Lestrade said.

"It's a start."

Finally, we could speak, "Sherlock?" John called. Sherlock didn't hear us or he just ignored us.

"Sherlock." I called him.

"Where is it, quickly, where?" Sherlock came close behind me. His chest pressed against my back.

"Here. It's in 221 Baker Street." John said slowly.

"How could it be here?" Sherlock asked, he pulled away from my back, "How?"

"Maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere." Lestrade offered. No, that wasn't it. I texted the number, someone called me.

"What, and I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice." Sherlock started to talk slower, something was coming to him.

"Anyway, we texted him and he called back." John said.

Sherlock looked like he was completely lost in thought. I was wondering if he was alright, but I didn't what to disturb whatever he was figuring out.

"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belongs to the victim." Lestrade said.

Sherlock only moved when his phone dinged and he pulled it out and read it.

"Sherlock, are you ok?" John asked.

Sherlock started blankly down the stairs, "What? Yea, yea, I'm fine." I didn't believe him.

"So how can the phone be here?" John asked again.

"Don't know." Sherlock replied. Once again, I didn't believe him.

"I'll try it again then." John sat down at the computer.

"Good idea." Sherlock walked down the stairs.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Fresh air, just popping outside for a moment." Sherlock walked down the stairs. When I heard the door close, I went to the window. Sherlock stood outside talking to the cabbie. What was going on?

And why did I have a bad feeling?

* * *

_Sherlock's POV_

How could I be so stupid?! Of course, it was a taxi driver. He was the only thing that made perfect sense. People trusted cabbies so he would have plenty of victims to choose from. He was the one who could hunt from a crowd, but stay invisible. Now he was standing outside my flat leaning on the cab.

"Taxi for Sherlock Holmes." He said in a more cockney accent.

"I didn't order a taxi." I said, taking what details I could.

"Doesn't mean you don't need one." He said.

I remembered seeing him that night we ran after the cab thinking it was the passenger, "You're the cabbie…the one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was you, not your passenger."

"See, no one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible, just the back of a head. Proper advantage for a serial killer." He went on. His voice was highly annoying.

"Is this a confession?" I looked up at the flat's window. Evangeline stood there watching everything with confusion on her face. I just nodded to her, not to worry. She nodded back, but she didn't leave the window.

"Yea. And I'll tell you what else. If you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise." He said.

"Why?"

"Because you're not going to do that." He smirked. He was confident, too confident. He thought he was smarter than he was, a narcissist.

"Am I not?" I asked.

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. Holmes." He said. "I spoke to them and they killed themselves. If you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing-I will never tell you what I said." He went around the car to get inside.

"No more people will die, I think they call that a result." I said. Contrary to what people might think, I didn't like when people died. Yes, I solved murders and crimes to drive away boredom, but there was another thing I could do to keep me occupied-something much darker. I didn't feel the urge to hurt people, though it didn't bother me if I did. I didn't care about people's feeling nor did I really feel. That's what made me a high functioning sociopath.

"You'll never find out how those people died. What kind of results do you care about?" He entered the cab leaving me to think.

I glanced at the window, Evangeline was still here. She'd figure it out, she was a clever girl. When she first walked into the lab, I didn't think much of her besides, she was just a bored librarian, though she was quite pretty, but no doubt dull and she looked like she would die of fright from a loud noise. When she opened her bag and I saw the newspaper with her words written on it, I knew she was so much smarter than I thought. She proved it more to me each time she answered one of my questions.

I found myself curious about how she would be as a flatmate. Would I finally have someone to have intelligent conversations with? Her choice in literature told me she might be, not many people like the works of Poe. They thought it was too dark, I find it relatable. Also, I found her to be a mystery. I had some of hints of who she was, but they didn't seem to answer as of who Evangeline Murphy was. I wanted to figure her out and know her secrets.

I walked to the window and bent down to look in, "If I wanted to understand, what would I do?"

"Let me take you for a ride." He replied.

"So you can kill me, too?" I asked. That wasn't going to happen.

"I don't want to kill you, Mr. Holmes. I'm going to talk to you and you're going to kill yourself."

I thought it through for a moment, of all the possible scenarios. No matter what John and Evangeline would figure it out if she hadn't figured it out yet.

"If you don't get in or if you lose, I'll take that pretty Irish girl for a ride." He said bringing me out of my thoughts, "She's been in here before, you know. Pretty thing, she is. Scared of everything too. I thought for a moment she knew what I was; she just so scared of me and everything. The only reason I let her live was because she said this address. I won't let her live next time."

I glared at him, "There won't be a next time." He should have never brought Evangeline in this.

* * *

_Evie's POV_

Something wasn't right. Why was Sherlock just standing out there talking to that cabbie? He looked up to me and nodded like he was telling me not to worry, I nodded back, but I couldn't leave that spot. I couldn't stop feeling worried about him either. My worries only tripled when he got in the taxi and then drove off.

I was too absorbed in my worries that I didn't notice John was looking out a window either, "He just got in a cab." John said, still holding the phone to his head, and then turned to the police, "It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab."

Sally frowned bitterly, "I told you he does that. He bloody left again. " She went into the kitchen and ordered the forensics around. I didn't pay much attention. Something was nagging me in the back of my head. I was trying to connect the dots when I heard Sally again.

"Does it matter? Does any of it? He's just a lunatic and he'll always let you down, you're wasting your time, all our time." Sally snapped at Lestrade.

I laughed without humor, "Wow, the bitterness." I turned from the window.

"Excuse me?"" Sally turned to me.

"How did he let you down, Sally?" I walked to stand in front of her, "Or did he just turn you down?" Her jaw clenched, I was right. I couldn't read people like Sherlock did, but I could still see signs. Everyone can read people by their tone of voice or body language; you just had to pay attention.

"Why would I ever want that freak?" She sneered.

"Sherlock is an attractive man. Especially with his eyes, cheekbones, and that voice that just sends tingles down your spine all the way to your toes." I replied smirking.

"Sounds like you're the one who wants him." She smirked.

"Oh, yes. I find him very attractive, but it's just attraction. I'm attracted to many men, but that's all it is and after all while I just see them as normal men. The thing with you, Sergeant, is not only are you bitter, but you're still attracted to him." I tilted my head to the side giving her a smug look.

"You know what? I think you're a freak just like him. You two are made for one another." She said it like she thought the comment would hurt me, but it didn't even register. I could only smirk wider and quirk a brow, was that all she had?

"Alright, girls, that's enough. Put away your claws." Lestrade pulled Sally away and got in the middle, "Ok everybody, we're done here."

The police packed up their stuff and quickly left. Sally and Anderson shot me a glare which I returned with a friendly smile and wave. As soon as they were out of eyeshot, I went back to worrying about Sherlock. I nibbled on my bottom lip in fear, but I wasn't sure why. The feeling at the back of my head was screaming at me to make the connection, whatever it was.

"Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?" Lestrade asked, putting on his coat.

John shrugged, "You know him better than I do."

Lestrade scoffed, "I've known him for five years, and no, I don't."

John asked, "So why do you put up with him?"

"Because I'm desperate, that's why." Lestrade made to walk down the stairs but stopped and turned, "And Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might be a good one." Lestrade left.

It was just John and I. John was doing something, I wasn't sure what and I stayed by the window waiting for Sherlock to reappear.

"Evie, he'll be fine. He probably just thought of something and ran off. He'll pop up later." John said comfortingly. I didn't turn to him; I continued to look out the window.

"Evie, you should go home. I'm going back to my flat." John said.

"I'm just going to stay here and wait." I turned and gave him a weak smile, "I want to throttle him when he gets back." John nodded slowly not believing me. I turned back to the window and he went off somewhere.

_Why did he just stand there and talk to the cabbie? He doesn't seem like someone to just make random conversation. _I thought to myself. A beep brought me out of my thoughts, I turned to check it but John was already on it.

"It's no longer at Baker Street." He looked up at me in shock and fear.

_The killer was here, but now he was gone. Just around the time Sherlock left…with the cabbie. _My eyes widened. I heard Sherlock's voice in my head, _Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of the crowd?_

"Oh, god." I panicked. I ran grabbing my coat, "Where does the phone lead?"

"What? What is it?" John asked.

"It's the cabbie, John! The cabbie that Sherlock got in the car with. The cabbie is the murderer!" I nearly shouted.

John grabbed his coat without second thought and grabbed the computer. Both of ran outside and hailed a taxi. I jumped in followed by John. The cabbie asked for directions and John guided him through by looking at the results on the computer. I was nervously running my fingers through my hair. _What if we don't get there in time? What if he kills Sherlock?_

John phoned Lestrade but I was too nervous to hear the conversation. My entire body shook and I couldn't keep a straight thought in my head. Tears from worry stung my ears. I wanted to shout at the cabbie to hurry up but he was driving at fast as legally possible.

I jumped out of the taxi before it could slow to a complete stop. They were two buildings in front of me and they looked the same. All the nights were on inside.

"We can split up." I said running to the nearest building, "You take that one, and I'll take this one."

"No, Evie. I'm not living you alone with a killer around." John said.

"But Sherlock…" I argued.

"We'll find him together." John took my hand and we ran to the building closest to him. Luckily the door was unlocked. We ran to each room calling for Sherlock, but we heard nothing.

"John, I don't think he's in this building." I opened a room, it was empty.

"We just started looking, Evie." John checked another room then slammed the door shut, "Don't bring up splitting up, it's not going to happen. Sherlock!" John called again.

"Sherlock!" I called with him, "We'd find him faster." John shook his head and we ran down another hall, up a stairway, and down another hall. Most of the doors on the other floors were locked and we still got no answer to calling for Sherlock. Finally we burst through a door, in the window across the small court yard, and in the other building I saw Sherlock with the cabbie.

"Sherlock!" John shouted.

"We won't make it over there in time!" I screamed.

John yanked his gun out the back of his pants and aimed, "Cover your ears, Evie." He ordered. I only had a second to clamp my hands over my ears before John fired. The cabbie went down. John grabbed my hand and we ran out the room before Sherlock could turn around to see us.

* * *

I could barely contain the laughter at seeing Sherlock sitting in an ambulance with an orange blanket draped over his shoulders. He ripped it off twice already, but the paramedic would just grab another and wrap it around him. He would look at the thing in disgust. He didn't get the chance to take this one off, Lestrade walked over to him.

I couldn't hear the conversation, but I had a feeling Sherlock figured out John was the shooter when he looked up and saw us. John looked off looking casual and I rocked back and forth on my feet.

Sherlock walked away with Lestrade following him. I laughed momentarily when I finally heard a bit of the conversation, "Oh, what now? I'm in shock-look, I got a blanket." Sherlock held the edges out showing off his wonderful orange blanket.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade called.

"And I just caught you a serial killer. More or less." Sherlock replied making me smirk. Sherlock walked away. Once again he ripped off the blanket and tossed it in the open window of a police car.

John spoke first, "Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything. Two pills. Dreadful business, isn't? Dreadful." John went on.

"Absolutely awful." I played along.

"Good shot." Sherlock praised with no emotion.

John cleared his throat, "Yes, yes, must have been, through that window."

"Well, you'd know." Sherlock replied, "Did you get the powder burns out of your fingers? I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case. Are you alright?" Sherlock asked looking at us both in turn.

"I'm fine." I said softly.

"Yes, of course I'm alright." John replied.

"Well, you just killed a man." Sherlock said.

"That's true. But he wasn't a very nice man." John reasoned.

"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?" Sherlock agreed.

"He was actually a terribly awful cabbie." I joked making John and Sherlock chuckle.

Sherlock smiled, "It's true. He was a bad cabbie. You should've seen the route he took to get us here." John snorted. I covered my mouth so I wouldn't draw too much attention with my silly giggling. Sherlock wore a proud smirk.

"Stop-we can't giggle, it's a crime scene. Evie, stop that now." John scolded while chucking.

"You're the one who shot him, don't blame us." Sherlock prodded playfully. Sally stopped when he said that, sending each of us a glare.

"Keep your voice down." John shushed, "Sorry, it's just nerves, I think." John explained to Sally.

"You weren't going to take that damn pill, weren't you?" John asked.

Sherlock smiled, "Course I wasn't. Bidding my time. Knew Evangeline would figure it out and you'd both turn up."

John scoffed, "No you didn't. That's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"Why would I do that?" Sherlock asked.

John smiled, "Because you're an idiot."

"A total idiot." I agreed smiling but then turned stern, "And if you ever do that to me again, I will hunt you down and throttle you to death." Sherlock only smiled.

"Dinner?" He asked.

"Starving." John replied.

"I want something deep fried and covered in chocolate." I pouted.

Sherlock chuckled, "End of Baker Street there's a good Chinese, stays open till 2:00. It also has sensational desserts." He smirked down at me.

"Desserts, you say?" I returned the smirk.

He nodded, "You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle." I quirked a brow at him. Oh, he had to explain this one to me.

"Sherlock." John called, "That's him. That's the man we were talking to you about." Exiting a black car was the man that lured John and I into a warehouse then tried to bribe her into spying on Sherlock. 'Anthea' followed behind him, her eyes still glued to her phone.

"I know exactly who that is." Sherlock lead the way to the man.

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited. But that's never really your motivation, is it?" The man said tried to smile, it looked odd.

Sherlock glared, "What are you doing here?"

"As ever, I am concerned about you." He replied.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern." Sherlock tilted his head up while looking at the man with distaste.

"Always so aggressive." The man smiled again, "Did it ever to occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no." Sherlock acted like he was thinking about it.

"We have more in common than you'd like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer. And you know how it always upsets Mummy."

"_I _upset her? Me? It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped. My jaw dropped as I glanced between the two taking in the similarities. Both had the most striking eyes and radiated arrogance. Both made me want to pull out my hair then beat them with John's old cane.

"No, wait. Mummy, who's Mummy?" John asked.

"Mother, our mother." Sherlock replied not taking his eyes off the man, Mycroft, "This is my brother, Mycroft."

"You two…are brothers." I couldn't help but repeat it, "I see being an arrogant sod runs in the family. And I thought my family was dysfunctional. Who on earth named you? Sherlock, Mycroft, where did they come up with these names? They both sound so…1880's" (A/N 1880's was when Sherlock Holmes was first published.)

"Of course he's my brother." Sherlock stated, "And what do you mean being an arrogant sod, Evangeline? There's nothing wrong with our names, well mine at least."

"Really, you don't notice that?" I asked, "Surely I'm not the first person to say it."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you, Evangeline." Mycroft smiled.

"Evie!" Sherlock snapped, "She prefers Evie."

"So he's not…" John stopped. He was still in a state of shock of things.

"Not what?" Sherlock and Mycroft looked at him.

"I don't know…criminal mastermind." John looked down at his feet.

Sherlock looked back at Mycroft, "Close enough."

Mycroft retorted, "For goodness sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He _is_ the British government when he's not too busy being British secret service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic. Coming Evangeline?" Sherlock stuck out his arm. I took it and we walked off.

"So are you going to answer my questions?" I asked.

"Your questions?" He repeated confused.

"The one's on the newspaper. Are you going to answer them?" I elaborated.

"Ah, yes, of course." He remembered, "He lured his victims with into the buildings with a fake gun. We gave the victim a choice between two bottles, one was good and the other was bad, poison. They took one and he took the other. He threatened to shoot them if they didn't take the poison; none of them knew that the gun was really a lighter." He explained.

"That was the most stupid thing to go about it. Why would he choose that method of murder if he might die?" I asked.

"He was dying anyway." Sherlock replied, "He targeted people because someone was giving him money for every kill."

"Who would do that?" I asked. John walked up before I got my answer.

"So dim sum." John said.

Sherlock hummed, "I can always predict the fortune cookies."

John chuckled, "No, you can't"

"Almost can." Sherlock retorted. I smiled shaking my head. I looped arms with John too and listened to the two of them bicker.

* * *

**So whatcha think? What was your favorite part or line? **

**The next chapter won't be heading into the second episode of Sherlock yet. They'll be a few original chapters. I hope you're excited. I know I am.**

**'Til next time, I love your faces! ^_^**


	7. Moving-In Day

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 7: Moving-In Day**

Thanks for the recent reviews in the last chapter. Once again, I'm happy that you love Evie and the story. Here's a chapter, that's not from the episodes. I want to put in my own chapters to show more of Sherlock's and Evie blooming relationship.

_Evie's POV_

* * *

I woke up refreshed and happy to meet my day the next day after the case with the pink lady. After we solved the case, Sherlock treated John and me to Chinese. When it was past closing time, we left. John went back to his flat, promising he'd come to Baker Street tomorrow with all his things. I was going to call for a taxi to take me back to mine, but Sherlock wouldn't hear it. He told me simply that I was going to stay at Baker Street. He gave me a change of his pjs and then told me to sleep in his bedroom. I tried to put up a fight, saying that I could sleep on the settee but Sherlock refused to let me. He slept on the settee and I slept in his really cozy bed that smelt amazing.

I sat up in the bed and stretched while smiling. I grabbed my bra that lay beside the bed and put it on before leaving the bed. I didn't want to leave his bedroom in a mess, so I tidied up his bed. I nearly slipped twice because of Sherlock's long pajama bottoms, they were way too long and they often tried to slip down my legs. I used the tie to tighten them around my waist; I wouldn't want them to fall in front of Sherlock or John that would just be too embarrassing.

I left the room and went into the living room. Sherlock wasn't in the living room, maybe he would be in the kitchen. That's where I found him; he was sitting at the table looking at something through a microscope. He still wore his gray shirt and gray plaid pajama bottoms along with an open dressing robe. His curly hair was haphazard and sticking everywhere which way, it was adorable to look at. I almost wanted to run my fingers through the messy curls, but how Sherlock would react stopped me.

I walked past him, without touching him, I didn't want to bother or annoy him. I got to the fridge and pulled out my cheesecake from the Italian restaurant and sat in the chair opposite him. He didn't even seem to notice my presence, not that I minded. That way I could look up at him and study him as I liked.

He was so very concentrated as he looked at whatever it was. Beside in a petri dish was red mush and beside it was the jar of eyeballs. All looked bloated and discolored, not something you want to see when you're trying to eat.

I was half way done with my cheesecake when Sherlock finally looked up from the microscope. He looked up at me, but he didn't seem to really see me. After a moment, Sherlock realized that I was there.

"Oh, good morning, Evangeline." He said.

"Mornin'." I mumbled, my mouth was still full of thick, yummy chocolate cheesecake.

"You're eating cheesecake for breakfast." He remarked.

I had so many sarcastic comebacks in my head but instead I just smiled and said, "Indeed." I got another forkful and ate it, savoring the rich flavors. I closed my eyes and practically moaned, there's nothing better in this world than rich chocolate.

I opened my eyes; Sherlock was still gazing at me from across the table. He didn't say a word as he watched me eat the last few bites. I wasn't one of those women who hate it when people watch them eat, but Sherlock watching me was very weird.

"What?" I asked, setting down my fork.

His brows knelt in confusion, "What do you mean what?"

"You're watching me eat a little too closely." I answered.

He shook his head slightly, "Sorry, I wasn't looking at you, I…" He thought for a moment, "zoned out."

"Uh-huh." I hummed, "So what are you looking at?"

"The radiation that trapped in the eyeballs after the microwave, it's only a small amount, but I'm curious." He looked down at the gooey mess on the petri dish.

"No cases?" I asked.

He looked annoyed, "None."

"So this is what you do when you don't have cases, you microwave eyeballs?" I asked softly, it wasn't meant to be an insult to him. I was only curious.

"The eyeballs are just an experiment. I do all sorts of them." He replied, "It keeps me from getting bored." He said bored with disgust. I reached over and took the jar of eyeballs and looked at them. I felt like giving myself a pat on the back since I wasn't gagging looking at them. Though I did want to once I smelled the formaldehyde. I turned the jar in my hand as I examined the eyes.

"Where do you get the body parts?" I asked, looking at a pair of milky green eyes in the jar.

"Molly, who works in Barts' morgue gives me spare parts." He replied while watching me.

I set the jar back in its original place, "The eyeballs reminded me of something I read, where people actually collect eyeballs. It didn't go into that much detail, however."

"Where did you read that?" He asked looking down through the microscope.

"Jamie Frater's The Ultimate Book of Bizarre Lists. It's really interesting; mostly I got it to read the lists about the gruesome torture devices." I laughed. It's true, I liked stuff dark and weird. I often googled serial killers and other strange things, yet I can't stomach thinking about Sherlock experimenting on eyes. Aren't I a strange combination?

Sherlock looked back up at me, "Torture devices?" He tilted his head to the side while looking at me.

I nodded my head, a bit too eagerly, "Yes, there's this one called the head crusher where they would put a clamp on the person's head. They slowly tightened it every time he wouldn't answer a question or they thought he didn't answer it truthfully. If he answered one or they thought he was telling the truth, they would loosen it a bit."

Sherlock thought for a moment, "They person would actually feel his own teeth shatter in his skull. I don't think a person survived it, even if they were released. There would be too much damage to the brain and skull."

"Yeah, I would imagine so." I agreed, "There are some other pretty gruesome ones. I'll let you borrow the book. It's pretty interesting in a creepy way."

He nodded, "I think I would like to read it."

I smiled, "Great. I hope you don't think I'm too weird after you read it." My old friends from Ireland hated it when I talked about it. One even claimed I gave them nightmares. It's funny when people see me as a sweet little angel, but who loves reading about dark and twisted things. Does that make me strange, oh no, there's plenty of people who love reading the same thing. Because that's all it is, reading about the strange stuff out in the world or that's happened.

"Evangeline, I just microwaved eyeballs." Sherlock said, pointing at the mush.

"Touché." I laughed.

A moment later, John walked into the living room, "Sherlock?"

"In here, John." Sherlock said, he then went back to looking at his eyeball mush. John walked in, on seeing me sitting there; he froze and stared at me in surprise.

"Oh, hello, Evie." He said.

"Good morning? You got everything from your old flat?" I got up and washed the fork, then threw the Togo box away. Once again the pants tried to slip even lower from my waist, showing John and Sherlock a bit of my lower back.

"Yeah, I'm about to take it up to my room. Which by the way, you can take the one with the private bathroom." He said.

I turned to him, "Are you sure? I don't mind sharing with Sherlock." I said.

"No, no. A woman needs her own bathroom." John shook his head. I could only smile and playfully roll my eyes at him. I was grateful he was letting him have the room with the private bathroom. I was fine with sharing, but I secretly wanted it. What woman would turn down her own private bathroom? Let alone when you're sharing it with two men.

"Thanks, John." I smiled. I walked to the living room and took Sherlock's copy of Edgar Allan Poe then curled up in Sherlock's chair. John stood in the doorway of the kitchen and living occasionally glancing between Sherlock and me. He looked worried and awkward; I wonder what got into him. Finally, he sat in the chair across from me.

"So…Evie." He started. I put the book down in my lap to show that I was listening to him, "You, uh, stayed here last night."

"Yes." I nodded, unsure where this was going.

"And you're wearing Sherlock's pajamas." He continued, glancing down at the loose gray shirt.

"Of course." I drawled.

"Where did you sleep?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but I could tell something was up.

"In Sherlock's bed." Then it clicked, "Ah, God, John! He slept on the settee. He didn't want me going home alone last night. You really think I'd just sleep with a stranger?" I felt a bit insulted, but the awkward moment leading up to it made it so funny. Not to mention John's appalled look-he was ashamed at himself.

"No, no. I didn't think. Well, I thought…nevermind. I'm sorry to even think..." John apologized, well sort of.

I held up a hand, he stopped, "It's fine." I held in a giggle. Awkward John was hard to stay angry at. I looked up at Sherlock who was still looking at his mush.

"Did you hear any of that, Sherlock?" I asked. I doubt he did, but I felt John deserved a little punishment which was bringing it up to Sherlock.

Sherlock immediately looked up at me, "Hear what?"

"It's nothing." John hastily replied, looking at him while blindly seeking my mouth with his hand to cover it.

With a smirk, I pushed his hand away, "John thought you and I slept with another last night." I chuckled seeing John tense up. Sherlock just stared at us blankly.

"As in, he thought we shagged." I elaborated.

It took a moment for him to show anything. If anything he seemed to think about it while staring at me, then he scoffed, "Please John. Why would I want to do something like that? With Evangeline? Never."

That stung more than I wanted it to. I slammed the book shut, making it echo throughout the room, "Please, don't hold back." I snapped. I put the book back on the shelf hurried out of the room, not before catching John and Sherlock talk.

"Did I say something wrong?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, Sherlock, you said something very wrong." John sighed.

I ran into Sherlock's room. It was where my clothes from last night were. I threw off his clothes, not even caring where they landed and yanked on my own. I was angry, for Sherlock to sound like the prospect of sleeping with me was humorous and at myself because I was offended and hurt that he thought that. I didn't want to shag Sherlock. I just wanted to be flatmates, but what he said hurt my pride and feelings. I shouldn't get so easily offended by it.

I opened to find Sherlock standing there with his hand, ready to knock on the door, "Oh, you're done." He said.

"Yes." I said shortly.

"Listen, with what I said earlier, I didn't not mean it to be taken as an insult." He explained. I opened my mouth to speak, but Sherlock held up a hand to stop me, "What I meant to come out was that I couldn't do that because one I am married to my work and two, I respect you."

My jaw dropped, "You respect me?"

"You are intelligent." He said like that was reason enough.

I thought it over for a minute, "You're forgiven." I said.

Sherlock pulled something out of his pocket, "I also had this, if you wanted it." Inside his hand was the most beautiful thing I've seen, a king-sized Cadbury Dairy Milk Mint Bubbly Bar. How did he know I loved those?

I could only stare at the candy bar in his hands with love and awe. It was so beautiful. I didn't even know they made them in king size. I already forgave the man and then he pulls out a candy bar. Oh, he's good.

"Do you want it?" He asked, smirking at my hungry look.

"Yes, please." I looked at him pleading.

Sherlock smiled, handing it to me. I didn't waste a moment to rip off the wrapper and take a large bite of it. I closed my eyes as I savored the mint and chocolate tastes that was thick in my mouth. There was nothing better than chocolate.

"Now Evangeline you best be hurrying up." Sherlock ruined my moment. I opened my eyes somewhat irked and gazed at him.

"For what?" I asked. Can I just enjoy my chocolate in peace?

"The movers, obviously." He replied. He checked his watch, "They'll be arriving at your old flat in about thirty minutes or so."

I narrowed my eyes in confusion, "I didn't call any movers."

"No, but I did." Sherlock said, "Now, may I have my room back? I don't wish to stay in my pajamas and dressing gown all day."

I stepped out still looking at Sherlock confused as ever. Why would he call the movers for me? Did he want me to move in that bad? I just shook my head. I really best be getting back to my old flat if I want to get there in time for them.

I was making my way to the stairs when John stopped me, "Where you off to?"

"Sherlock called a moving company to help me move out. I got to get there to open the door and pack." I replied. I grabbed my long black peacoat and slipped it on along with my green cotton scarf.

"Oh, would you like some help?" He asked.

"You don't have to." I smiled at the thought; John was truly a sweet man.

"Well, it's not like I have anything better to do." He smiled, "I wouldn't mind at all helping you. Let me grab my jacket." John grabbed it off the back of his chair and then we were off to the tube station. We rode in silence, but not an awkward silence. John let me loop arms with me and allowed me to lay my head on his shoulder. People might see us a couple, but I see him as an older brother that I always wanted. John didn't flirt with me and seeing how he was quite the flirtatious man, I think he saw me as a little sister.

The movers were impatiently waiting outside the building to my flat. I apologized profusely saying that I didn't even know they were going to be here today until thirty minutes ago. Luckily they thought I was cute and wasn't too upset about waiting. John's presence kept them from flirting with me, but it didn't stop them from checking me out.

"So where should we start?" John asked. I looked around. I didn't have anything in the living room. Vivian's stuff took over the living room. Everything I owned was in my bedroom, my bathroom, and my few groceries.

"I'll stuff my clothes and bedding into bags, if you'd pack up my books." I figured John wouldn't want to handle my underwear.

"Sounds good." He nodded. It took me a minute to remove my bedding, and then the movers took apart my bed to pack it away in the truck.

"You have a lot of books." John pointed out while looking at my four floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. They were filled with all sorts of books from fantasy to classic to mythologies to books about history.

"Yes, reading is another one of my addictions." I laughed.

"Where are your trashy romance novels? Shouldn't everyone have them?" John asked jokely.

"Please, those are dull. I like books with more mystery or mythical creatures in it than some overly muscled meat head who loves a fainting damsel." Granted, not all romance novels are that way, but I couldn't stand reading them.

John pulled a book down and gave me a disapproving look, "You love the Hobbit?"

I turned at him insulted, "You don't?"

"It's a bit boring, isn't it?" He scrunched up his face.

"John Watson, I have the strongest urge to smack you upside your face with that book. How dare you insult such a wonderful and classic story." I scolded. I took the book away from him and placed it gently in beside The Lord of the Rings.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry." He laughed. He wasn't intimidated by my reprimanding look; I really need to work on it. He reached up to grab some other books from the highest shelf, but couldn't seem to grab them. I smirked as I watched him stand on his tip toes to try to grab the book with the tip of his fingers. After watching him suffer for a moment longer, I took pity on him and grabbed the book. It was good to be three inches taller than him.

"Shorty." I laughed.

"Giant." He retorted.

"Small fry." I crossed my arms.

"Big foot." He countered.

"Bite sized." I stuck my tongue at him.

"Beanstalk." He smirked. _Oh, you're not going to win this._

"Vertically challenged." _Try coming up with something now._

"Amazon." He held his head up high.

"Hobbit." I smiled. He narrowed his eyes at me and I narrowed my right back. We stood there for a long moment just glaring at one another until finally at the same time we burst into laughter.

"Did you just call me a Hobbit? Vertically challenged?" He wheezed through his laughter.

"You did call me big foot." I laughed.

"And an Amazon, don't forget about that." He chuckled. He laughed so hard he was bending over with his hands on his knees. It only made me laugh harder watching him trying not to laugh. I fell over onto my butt. We stopped for a moment, just the smallest moment and then once again-we laughed our arses off.

"What are you two giggling like children over?" A deep voice said from my doorway.

I didn't have to turn to see who it was. It could only be Sherlock. What he was doing here, I had no clue. I didn't think he'd be the type to offer anyone to help them move. When I finally turned to look at me, he was glancing around my room trying to read everything he could from my possessions. His eyes darted from my books, the ones that were still on the shelves and in the boxes, to my pictures, then finally to me.

"What are you doing here?" John asked.

"Well, I thought you could use an extra hand." He told John tersely since he didn't like to be questioned.

"Oh, well, that's kind of you." I smiled. I picked myself up from the floor. I went back to packing things like my pictures on my desk and bedside table, my laptop, and then the pictures on my walls. Sherlock didn't do that much help; he mostly watched John and me as I packed my things. I had a feeling he was looking for some sign about my marriage to Liam, not that he knew I was married. All he knew is that I was in a serious relationship that ended.

I was deep in thought about him that I didn't even notice Sherlock come up behind me, "You like sunflowers." My eyes went to the vase of sunflowers on my desk. The poor things needed some sunlight, but he was right. I loved sunflowers. I don't really care of flowers, but something about sunflowers always seemed to make me smile.

"Excellent deduction." I rolled my eyes. I was too busy to play with Sherlock; I wanted to be finished moving today.

"Don't most women love roses?" He asked.

I turned to him and looked up into his eyes, "Well, I'm not most women." I remarked.

Sherlock silently eyed me before mumbling, "Indeed you're not." He walked over to my bedside table. I didn't have the chance to empty it out yet and I didn't want him to go through it. I had some…private things in there.

I didn't make it in time. Sherlock slid open the draw and stared blankly at the contents of the draw, "Evangeline." He started.

"Yes?" I was biting my lip nervously.

Sherlock reached in and grabbed something. I was starting to sweat when John looked over to see what Sherlock was gawking at. Sherlock turned to face me and held up a handful of candy. I let out a sigh of relief. I could see from my draw now that my stash had covered up my 'private things'.

"You have a problem." He said looking at the clutched Cadbury sweets.

I rolled my eyes and took the candy away from him, "I do not. Now, help John pack my books." Thankfully he listened. While their backs were turned, I scooped the candy and 'private things' into a box. I only let out the breath I was holding in once the box was taped up.

The moving went faster than I accepted. John helped a lot with packing and bringing in the boxes at Baker Street. Sherlock helped a little with the packing, but none of the heavy lifting. He mostly watched us, the lazy bum. After all my things were moved into my new room at Baker Street, Sherlock paid the moving crew-he wouldn't allow me to do it. I texted Vivian telling her I was no longer living there, we weren't at all close so I didn't mind not telling her in person that I was gone. She texted me back, turns out she had been planning on kicking me out, she wanted her best friend to move there. Thank God, I've been trying to move out and found a place.

I decided to make the boys dinner, lasagna. John and Mrs. Hudson loved it, but Sherlock barely touched his. He didn't even eat with us. He stayed mostly in front of his microscope looking at his exploded eyeballs.

Then John and I spent the rest of the night painting my new room mint green that went perfectly well with my mint green and cream bedding. I slept on the settee my first night so that my room could dry. I didn't get too much rest because Sherlock was still in the kitchen, every hour or so he'd stick some more eyeballs in the microwave. The beeping would wake me up.

* * *

I woke up the next morning to someone throwing something in my lap. It was none other than Mr. Rudey pants-Sherlock Holmes. The thing that landed in my lap was a computer that already had a page pulled up-The Science of Deduction, Sherlock's page. Sherlock paced back and forth before sitting down on his desk chair facing me.

"This is _not_ how a girl wants to wake up in the mornings, Sherlock." I grumbled.

"I need a case." He said.

I set the computer on the floor, "Why the hell are you waking me up for? Find your own case." I turned over facing away.

"I'm bored." He bellowed. _God, he sounded like a child._

"Then read a book or dissect a finger. Or you could take up a hobby. I've heard crochet is very therapeutic, and in the end you have scarves and blankets." I pulled the cover over my head hoping he would see that the conversation was over.

"Evangeline." He grumbled.

"No, Sherlock. Go away or I'll put you in time out." I said.

He got up and set the computer on my hip. I pulled the cover away so I could glare at him, "Why don't you get John to help you find a bloody case?"

"Because he's asleep." He replied, rolling his eyes.

"I was asleep!" I yelled. I set the computer back down and kicked off the covers.

Sherlock said nothing; he picked up the computer and set it back on my lap. I glared at him for the longest time. Why did I move in with him again?

"If I find you a case, will you let me go back to sleep?" I asked with my head in my hands.

"Yes, yes, of course." He said snappishly. I didn't believe him for a moment, but I looked at his inbox anyway. He had plenty of people wanted him to solve something for him, why didn't he need my help.

"Olive Hawker thinks her husband is having an affair." I summarized the first case.

"Dull. Next." He said.

My eyes skimmed the next cases, "Affair. Affair. Affair. Affair. Damn, doesn't anybody trust their spouses these days?" I rolled my eyes. Sherlock didn't comment or laugh, he just stared.

"Ok…" I looked back down at the computer, "Oh, here's one. A couple thinks their house is haunted."

"What?" Sherlock jumped up to stand beside me so he could look at the computer.

"They say they've seen spectral dogs, floating orbs, and a ghostly woman wearing a wedding gown walking about their mansion at night between 3 AM to 3:30 AM. They would like you to figure out what is going on and stop it." I read the email then looked up at him, "Are you going to take it?"

"It seems like a complete waste of time, but I guess it will have to do." He said, "Now, change your clothes and grab your coat. We have a case to solve." He grabbed the computer to reread the e-mail.

"Hey, that's not part-." I didn't get to finish before a bag of Cadbury Buttons landed in my lap. Curse him! But I wasn't going to give up that easy. I looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"What? Is that not enough?" He asked bemused. I crossed my arms and shook my head. Not a second later, a pack of Fry's Turkish Delight landed in my lap. I quirked a brow at him, still not enough. Sherlock sighed and pulled a several Cadbury Eggs from his coat pocket. He tossed one at a time in my lap, three joined my chocolaty bribe.

"You get those now and when we finish I'll give you more." He said.

I smiled and jumped up clutching the candy, "I'll be right back." I ran up to my room. Though I wanted to sleep in, I was excited about this new case with Sherlock. Were we going to solve a ghost story?

* * *

**So whatcha think? What's your favorite lines and/or part? I liked it when John and Evie called each other names? **

**The next chapter(s) will be about the ghost case. It's not based off of Sherlock Holmes cases, I'm making it up with some inspiration from urban legends, ghost stories, and my imagination. **

**'Til Next Time. I love your faces. ^_^**


	8. Ghost Bride

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 8: Ghost Bride**

So happy to read all the reviews the past chapter. Sorry I haven't posted anything in the past few days, I've been in the process of moving.

_Evie's POV_

* * *

_John, _

_I'm out with Sherlock on a case about ghosts. The bugger had woken me up just so I can find him a case, can you believe that? Well, I'll see you soon. Feel free to text me._

_ ~Evie_

I wrote down the quickly on a sticky note and stuck it to John's door. I didn't want him to worry too bad about where we were. I changed from my pajamas into a dark green long-sleeved V-neck that was lined with cream lass, some dark jeans, and some black ankle boots. I looked in the mirror rethinking the shirt; it did show off a bit too much cleavage that I would like. I was contemplating changing my shirt, when I heard a very angry and impatient yell of my name.

I sighed; grabbing my coat and scarf, then ran down the two sets of stairs, where Sherlock was waiting. I didn't button up my coat all the way before Sherlock analyzed my clothes.

"Your shirt…" He stared.

"What about it?" I glanced down, did it have a stain?

"It's…nothing. Absolutely nothing, let's go." He led me out the door by the small of my back. Outside he hailed a taxi, one stopped and he allowed me to step in first.

"So, I wasn't able to read the rest of the e-mail. What's the problem with our little ghost?" I asked.

"They said the ghost appears only thirty minutes, in that time things have gone missing. First, it was an antique wedding dress, then some wedding rings and then some jewelry." Sherlock explained, "The couple wants the stolen items returned and for the ghost to disappear."

"Do you think it's a real ghost?" I asked. Sherlock shot a 'don't be ridiculous' look at me.

"What? I'm just asking if you believe in ghosts?" I shrugged.

"No, of course not. Why would I believe in something so stupid?" Sherlock looked at me, "Do you believe in ghosts."

"Not really, but I do try to keep an open mind." I said, I dug through my pocket and pulled out my pack of Fry's Turkish Delight. It wasn't like real Turkish Delight; it was just a candy bar, but a yummy candy bar.

"An open mind about what?" He scrunched up his face in confusion.

"That there might be stuff out there. Aliens, ghosts, Big Foot, mermaids. There's no definite proof that they exist, but either is there proof that they don't." I replied, "Though if there are mermaids then I'm going to cry, I always wanted to be a mermaid growing up."

He scoffed, "How juvenile. But what do I expect from a girl who eats more candy than a child and reads childish books like Harry Potter."

I turned to him with a glare, "Do not insult Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes. You will start a fight…a fight you will lose." I said lowly. Then I took a large bite of my Turkish Delight.

Sherlock just stared down at me for the longest time, "You are by far one of the strangest human being I've ever met." He said slowly.

I turned to face forward, "Says the man who microwaves eyeballs." In my peripheral, I saw Sherlock smile. The smile was short lived; he dug out his phone and went to typing.

An hour of so passed as we drove farther into the country where the nicer houses were. Finally we stopped and Sherlock paid the cabbie. We walked to the door and rang the bell. While we waited, I looked around; the house was strange, sickly yellow-green color with a bright blue door and a red roof. Leading along with the gravel pathway was different colored tulips. All was recently planted and painted. This house was much too colorful for a supposedly haunted house.

"Whoever chose the colors for this house should be shot." I mumbled.

"Indeed." Sherlock chuckled. He took a moment to look around too.

"The designer must be colorblind." I remarked. I sighed again and knocked once more.

"Getting impatient." Sherlock commented. He watched as I knocked once again on the door. Yes, I was getting very impatient. I didn't like being outside in the cold and I wanted to get the social interaction with new people over. Contrary to what you might think, I hate meeting new people and talking to them. Since that night, I've been wary about new people and talking to them.

The first year after Liam's death, I used to get terribly crippling panic attacks just hearing someone knocking on the door. I would stay in my flat for days avoiding everyone. When someone so close-someone you trust rips the love of your life out of it and almost kills you, it came make your distrust all those around you, even your family. This year I've been getting better, but it still surprises me how easily and quickly I opened up to Sherlock and John.

"And you're the most patient guy there is." I rolled my eyes. Sherlock chuckled briefly again.

I was about to slam my fist door on the door, but it opened suddenly by a woman wearing an eye-searing neon orange dress with a matching jacket. She was an older lady whose face was etched in a permanent scowl. She had hair white as a piece of paper, but she looked like she would in her late forties. Her eyes were a dark brown, almost black. She had an elegant build for wearing hideous eye-hurt colored clothing.

She examined Sherlock and I with an uppity look, her face scrunched up like she smelled something fowl in the air, "You must be Sherbet House." She looked over to me with disdain, "And you are?" She asked.

"It's Sherlock Holmes and this is Ms. Evangeline Murphy, my assistant. Call her Evie." Sherlock introduced. When did I become his assistant? I rolled my eyes and shook my head internally.

"A pleasure, truly." The woman said without emotion. She stood off to the side of the door, "I'm Mary Anne Porter. This way."

Sherlock allowed me to pass by first before he went ahead. The inside was as outrageously colorful as the outside. All the furniture looked brand new and every surface was super clean with not a speck of dust. This house was nothing I expected for a house to have a ghost problem.

"How long have you lived here?" I asked.

"My husband and I have lived here for five years, but his family has lived here for six generations." She replied. I glanced around the hall again; this house looked way too nice to be lived in for that long. I would have guessed it would have been newer. One thing caught my eye; on the table were several brochures. I grabbed the one that said 'Ghost Bride'. As we went down the hallway, I read.

The Mystery of the Ghost Bride

_The Ghost Bride's real name, age, and date of birth differ. No one knows for certain her story and no record has ever been found. However, her ghost has been seen throughout the years by many. She has been seen by all hours of the night after midnight._

Midnight? I thought they said she appeared around 3 AM to 3:30 AM. Maybe the brochure is wrong, I thought to myself then read on.

_Legend also differs. Some say she was a bride whose husband was killed in a war before the wedding could take place. Others say she was poisoned on the day or her wedding by a scorned love. Either way, she is searching for her husband or the man that killed her. She will not rest until he is found._

I stopped reading and pocketed the brochure. It certainly rose quite a bit of questions. How did they not have any solid information about this ghost? Surely they would at least have her name and age. Or her story and cause of death.

She led us into the living room that looked like a paisley explosion. The wallpaper, the furniture, the curtains, and throw blankets and pillows were a burnt orange paisley. I was convinced the designer was colorblind.

"This is my husband, Gerald Porter." Mary Anne said. Gerald stood up from the couch; it was as awfully dressed as Mary Anne and the house. He was wearing an olive suede suit with a royal blue tie. I had to hand it to Gerald, he was a handsome man. He was a pale tan man with a nice chin, beautiful blond hair, and brilliant green eyes. She looked many years younger than Mary Anne; he could have been in his early to late thirties.

"Gerald, this is Sheppard Holmes and Evangeline Murray." She motioned uncaring towards us and set down beside the man.

"It's Sherlock Holmes and Evie Murphy." I corrected snippily. A felt a buzz in my pocket; pulling out my phone I saw that it was a text from John.

_You're solving ghost stories with Sherlock, now? _

I texted back: _Apparently so. You're lucky he didn't wake you up this morning. Next time, you get to spend time with Bossy Arse-Head Holmes._

"That's what I said." Mary Anne rolled her eyes.

Gerald stuck out his hand to Sherlock, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes." He stuck Sherlock's hand briefly but politely. He took my hand and held it up, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Evie." He kissed my knuckles lightly then looking up at me, he winked.

"Enough flirting, Gerald, sit down." Mary Anne rolled her eyes again. Gerald shot me another wink before sitting down.

I got another text from John: _Whatever, we both know you're his favorite. I quirked a brow in question, I wasn't Sherlock's favorite._

_Favorite? _

John: _You can't say you honestly missed all that?_

I was even more confused: _Missed what?_ John never texted me back.

Sherlock and I sat down in the settee opposite them. Sherlock never stopped glaring at Gerald even after Mary Anne started to speak, "Now, Mr. Holloway. The reason why you are here is because of a ghost."

Sherlock sighed impatiently. I sensed he was about to say something really rude, so I spoke up, "Why would the ghost be taking dresses and jewelry? It doesn't really make sense, does it?"

"How beautifully intelligent, Evie." Gerald praised making Sherlock roll his eyes. I didn't care for the flattery; in fact, it made me really uncomfortable. I smiled awkwardly, then looked to Sherlock hoping she would take over the conversation like he always did. He only rolled his eyes again with a sigh then turned to them.

"When did you notice the jewelry was missing?" He asked.

"Four nights ago. Every night something would go missing. First night, a wedding dress was taken. Then the second night, antique wedding bands were stolen. On the third, a diamond lace choker, 2 sapphire bracelets, and a 16 karat king ruby ring were taken. All were taken from high security cases, if you approached the cases with a high fever, the alarms will go off." Gerald explained smugly.

"The cases only unlock with the touch of a button that's located in the camera room where two security guards are located. They stayed awake all night watching the cameras. Around three AM is when the ghost appeared, but it didn't take anything until 3:30. Just before 4, the item would disappear."

"Disappear?" I was sitting on the edge on the settee. I was definitely drawn into the whole case, but Sherlock looked like he wasn't even impressed. He just rolled his eyes yet again and waited for Gerald to continue.

"One moment the items were there, and in the blink of the eye they were gone. The Ghost Bride disappeared along with it." Gerald said, his face serious giving it a moment of drama, "The stolen items belonged to the Ghost Bride."

"Last night, a silver amethyst hairpin was taken as well." Mary Anne complained, "So Mr. Homer, either you figure out what's going on or I'll find someone else that will. I will pay handsomely if you stop this ghost and retrieve the stolen items. My husband did not want to call you. I am the one you called, so prove me right in calling."

"I do not require money to do these things. I will solve this case like any other." Sherlock replied.

I leaned into him, "You may not require money, however, I'm not so giving. You did wake me up." I quirked a brow.

"I gave you chocolate, remember?" He retorted.

"Yes, but chocolate doesn't pay bills." I remarked.

"Fine, you can take it." He sighed. We looked up like they couldn't possibly overhear the conversation, "The reward will be given to my assistant."

Mary Anne rolled her eyes and Gerald smiled, "Perfect. Now we have errands to run. We'll leave you to it. I recommend waiting here until 3 AM." Gerald hopped up off the settee, "If you have any questions ask the housekeeper Sophie."

I glanced at my watch, it was 8 in the morning, "You want us to wait almost 19 hours." I asked incredulously.

"Yes, Sophie is making you some lunch and tea, just ask. The bathroom is down the hall to the left and you may go in the library if you want." Gerald fished in his pocket, "Here's the Wi-Fi password." Gerald winked once more. Once they left, I opened the piece of paper. Inside was the Wi-Fi password, like he said, but so was his phone number.

I entered the password into my phone, then handed it to Sherlock. He glanced down at the number glaring then looked up at me in question. I ignored him, and when he handed the piece of paper back and without looking I crumbled the piece of paper then tossed it into the waste basket.

The rest of the wait involved Sherlock typing away at his phone or him thinking with his hands in the prayer position. I grabbed a book; Dante's Inferno from the library and read in silence. Around 12, Sophie brought us finger sandwiches and a pot of tea. I ate several of the sandwiches even though it tasted like cardboard with meat. The tea was lukewarm and no amount of sugar could make it taste good. Sherlock didn't touch them, only typed and thought away without speaking.

On one table was a bowl of candy, I grabbed a handful and ate some only to spit it out in the wastebasket. It was the most disgusting thing I've ever eaten. How dare it call itself chocolate and how could anyone ever sit this out to guests? Maybe it was poison? These people had to evil to set this out. I didn't bring any chocolate with me and I was craving. Out of curiosity, I reached into Sherlock's coat. Bingo! A large Cadbury Dairy Milk Chocolate Bar, I ripped open the wrapper and started eating. Sherlock didn't even seem to notice that I pickpocketed him.

Around 3, Mary Anne reappeared from wherever with handfuls of shopping bags. She didn't even say a word as she passed us by. Gerald never returned even when it was getting dark outside. Sophie brought us some soup and crackers. Once again the food was terrible, the soup was cold and the crackers were stale. I was too hungry so I ate it anyway. Sherlock didn't even notice the food, I wasn't even sure he was breathing. How could someone be so silent for nearly 19 hours, he didn't even get up to go to the loo.

When 2:30 finally arrived, Sherlock finally made a noise, "It's time." He said quietly.

"It's thirty minutes away." I said sleepily. It was way past my bedtime, I tried to be in bed by 10, 11 at the latest and all the excitement the past two days have had me drained.

"In the camera room." He stood up; he grabbed my hand pulling me along with him.

"Can't I sleep on the hideous settee while you get your genius on and save the day?" I asked.

"You are not going to miss this." Sherlock led me down the hall. He opened the door that held a sign that said 'Personnel Only'. Inside were the two security guardsmen and on the screens, meant for camera feed, was porn. I quickly put my hand over my eyes and suppressed a single at the sound of the moans. I was so very mature.

"Turn that filth off!" Sherlock scolded. _Oh, Sherlock, always the gentlemen and defending my honor. _

"What the hell are you doing in here?!" One asked. I didn't pay attention to the argument, once the cameras returned to normal showing the camera feed. It shows a ballroom turned gallery, in the room were several glass classes with jewelry and clothes that all belonged to the Ghost Bride.

What drew my attention wasn't the cases and its contents; it was the thick fog that seemed to be pouring into the room, "Sherlock." I called, but he was too busy insinuating the men never been with a woman by the state of their porn sleeves.

The fog was super thick now and amongst the fog was shining lights flying around the room. A large black dog ran through one door and out the other, "Sherlock." I called again; again he was too busy being an arse to pay me any attention.

When the willowy ghost in a white Victorian wedding dress appeared, walking through the door slowly like a bride would down the aisle, I grabbed Sherlock's face and turned it to the camera feeds. The shock was written all over his face as his eyes scanned the screens taking in everything.

"The ghost is…real." I said slowly.

* * *

**Whatcha think? Tell me your favorite part. **

**'Til next time, I love your faces! ^_^ **

**I can has reviews?**


	9. Jinkies

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 9: Jinkies**

Sorry the chap is shorter than usual, but I wanted to end it on a cliffhanger so enjoy. :)

_Evie's POV_

* * *

"The ghost is…real." I said slowly while watching the screen. The ghost bride strode through the room elegantly, stopping at a case and peering inside then going on to the next. She caressed the case that held a photo, though I didn't know what it was of. A sad keening could be heard through the screen, the sound nearly broke my heart.

Not a second after Sherlock saw the ghost girl, he took off running out and no doubt to catch her in the act. After a second, I took off running after him. Irrational worry filled me, what if the ghost bride decided she wanted Sherlock as her replacement groom? What?! It could happen! I know if I was an ancient ghost looking for her long-lost lover and Sherlock Holmes popped up, I would so take him.

"Sherlock!" I called behind him. Damn that man runs so fast. I wished that I joined the gym now. Damn this house for being so big.

He didn't stop or say anything, he just came running. He disappeared when he turned the corner to the left. A second later I heard a loud bang, turning the corner I saw Sherlock fling his shoulder into the door, it shook momentarily but did not open.

"Are you going to stand there, Evangeline, or are you going to help me?" He asked just before colliding into the door again.

"I can't run a few feet without almost killing over, what makes you think I could possibly open that door?" I asked, but I threw my shoulder just as Sherlock threw his. My body seemed to shake after the impact, damn it hurt, but I threw my shoulder into it again. More pain spread through my arm. _Sherlock so owes me for this. He better get me a whole bunch of chocolate. _

We were just about to throw our bodies once more into the door when it opened, sadly, I had already built up some momentum and went crashing to the floor. Sherlock was such a perfect gentleman and walked right pass me into the ballroom-note the sarcasm.

"No, please, don't worry yourself over me. I'm fine." I grumbled picking myself up. I wiped myself off but froze when I looked around the ballroom. There was no smoke, orbs, dogs, or a ghostly bride. Sherlock was walking around the cases examining its contents.

"Have you spotted the stolen object yet?" I asked. If only they told us all that was in the cases, but they were determined to leave.

"Nothing is stolen." He looked around, "Before the ghost appeared I saw the contents of the cases on the cameras, everything is still here."

"Why didn't she steal anything?" I looked around at the ground. I thought since the dog came through there would be footprints or the floors would be wet from the dog but the wood was dry and not a single print.

"Because we interrupted." He replied, "How can this be? There's no sign that she was in here."

"There's no sign that the dogs or the orbs were in here. Nor the fog." I said looking once more at the floor, "Sherlock, what on earth is going on?"

Sherlock didn't answer, "What direction did she come from?" He strode over to me so that he was standing directly in front of me.

I glanced around the room until I found the door, "There!" I pointed. As soon as it got out of my mouth, Sherlock took off running and this time he had my hand in his firm grip. He threw up the double doors. I noticed something white flutter to the floor just as we passed through, "Sherlock stop." I said.

I stopped moving enough though he tried to tug me along. He managed to drag me a ways before he got annoyed, "Evangeline, move your legs."

"I think I saw something." I argued back. Sherlock didn't listen as he continued to drag.

"Move, Evangeline!" He ordered growling. He tugged once more. With a huff, I sat down in the middle of the floor. Sherlock was jerked, but let go of my hand and turned to me.

"Evangeline, get up!" He snapped, "I will pick you up if I have to."

I quirked a brow challengingly, "I would _love_ to see you try."

Sherlock's face fought over what emotion to use; one second he looked irked, next minute his face was blank, and then he smirked, lastly he went right back to irked. All those faces happened in a second. With a growl, "You're acting like a child", Sherlock leaned down to pick me up but I was too fast. I turned over and scrambled away to the doors.

Sherlock grumbled behind me but I didn't give him my attention. I bent over picking up the fluttering thing I saw as we passed through, it turned out to be some white cloth. I heard Sherlock come behind me and reach for it, but I held it away from his grasp.

"Jinkies." I whispered picking up the white material.

"What's a jinkies?" Sherlock asked coming over.

I turned to him shocked, "Have you ever seen Scooby Doo?"

"What's Scooby Doo?" He frowned.

"You're telling me you're a consulting detective, and you've never seen Scooby Doo!"

He rolled his eyes, "Obviously not."

"Well, in Scooby Doo when they find a clue, they say jinkies." I held up the cloth for him to see, "And I believe I find a clue, so jinkies."

"It's cheap costume material." I said rubbing my fingers over the cheap white lace and the fake silky materiel.

"Why would that be doing here?" He asked but more to himself.

I turned, "You think it's from my mysterious ghost woman?" I smirked. I no longer thought it was a ghost and I didn't believe for a second that Sherlock ever thought it was a ghost.

"Won't she be awfully cross when she finds out her dress was ripped." He smirked back.

"Indeed." I smiled, "So do you have any theories about who is really is?"

"I have two." He said, we went back to walking in the same direction as before but without the hurry.

"Of course it could be more depending on how many women on the staff." I said, "Mary Anne would know since she's the woman of the house, but she already has wealth. Sophia is their maid, she's not that wealthy…" I thought aloud.

"But she has a wealthy lover." Sherlock continued, "You saw her nails and her earrings. Someone is taking care of her, most likely Gerald."

"She doesn't seem to like us being here either." I remembered back to the food.

"What makes you think that?" He asked confused.

"See, you didn't eat the food she brought out. It was cold, stale, and disgusting. However the food she gave Gerald right when we came in was gourmet and stacked so that it looked like a ship."

"It could also be that she was jealous of the attention Gerald was giving you." Sherlock remarked coldly.

"Maybe, but I don't think that's it." I shook my head, "But how could they make the fog, the dogs, or the orbs?" Sherlock was silent but one corner of his lips was quirked with amusement.

"You know, don't you?" I couldn't help but smile up at him.

"Now, Evangeline, where on earth would you get that idea?" He asked.

"You will tell me eventually right? Because I don't think I can let you leave me hanging on this." I asked. My stomach growled suddenly. While walking, I stuck my hand into Sherlock's pocket and felt around.

"You ate the only chocolate bar I had on me." Sherlock said calmly.

"You knew that I pickpocketed you?" I asked pouting slightly, there was no good chocolate around here and I wasn't as sneaky as I thought.

"Of course, I knew." He said, "Now, quit that pouting and help me find the dress."

"Start looking in closets?" I asked as I opened a hall closet.

"Look everywhere. We'll spit up. I'll take this side of the hall and you take that one. Then when we reach the end where the hall splits, I'll go down the left and you the right. Call me if you find anything." Sherlock didn't wait for an ok or a nod, he went right to work.

The search down the first hall wasn't fruitful at all. I only found a few clothes and some towels since many of the rooms were not used at all. I wasn't any closer when I went down the hall to the right. Not a single clue was found and I wanted another excuse to say jinkies.

I passed by some French windows that led out into the garden and a large pool, I completely passed it when I realized I saw something in my peripheral. Slowly I backed up to the French windows. I couldn't quite see what it was but something was floating out in the middle of the pool. With dread I turned on the outside light and then walked outside. Floating face down in the pool was a woman wearing a cheap bridal costume.

I dialed Sherlock's number, it only took one ring for him to answer, without any greetings I said, "Jinkies."

* * *

**So what did you think about this short chapter? What was your favorite part if you have one? **

**'Til next time... Oops. John, Evie, and Sherlock would like to say something.**

**John: *waves* Hey, everyone. Sorry for not being in the chapters, but I will return soon.**

**Evie: *nibbles on a chocolate bar stolen from Sherlock* Hey, guys. Thanks for all the likes and comments about me. I love you too.**

**Sherlock: *looking through a microscope, not paying any attention***

**Evie: *elbows Sherlock and points at readers***

**Sherlock: What?!**

**John: You're supposed to say something nice about Masquerade's story and readers.**

**Sherlock: What is there nice to say about dull, bored people who don't have a life and read this garbage?**

**Evie, John, and Masquerade glare.**

**Sherlock: *looks around* Was that the wrong thing to say?**

**Evie, John, and Masquerade nod their heads slowly.**

**Sherlock: *turns to the readers with a fake smile* Hi...um...just review on it already.**

**Well, Thanks Sherlock. *turns to readers* 'Til next time, I love your faces. ^_^**

**Sherlock: What is the bloody thing at the end? **


	10. Eyes

**Curiosity **

**Chapter 10: Eyes**

_Evie's POV_

* * *

"What? Are you going on about that winkies thing again?" Sherlock asked impatiently, "I don't have any time for your nonsense."

"Sherlock." I said afraid while staring at the body that was lying face down in the water.

"Evangeline, what is it? Are you alright?" Sherlock asked hurriedly, "Tell me where you are."

"I'm by the pool." I replied.

"I know how to get there, I'll be there in a moment." I could hear by the way Sherlock was breathing that he was running, "Are you hurt or in danger?"

"I'm fine. Just hurry." My voice cracked when I glanced at the body lying face down, just like Liam did. I looked away quickly just in time as Sherlock burst through the doors, man he ran quick. I didn't look up at him. I kept my eyes closed with my face tilted to the ground and pointed at the body floating in the pool. I heard Sherlock walk over to the pool then hear him call the police.

"Evangeline, are you alright?" Sherlock stood in front of me. I felt his gloved fingers tilt my chin up but my eyes were still closed. After a moment, I opened them and looked into Sherlock's beautiful eyes.

"Are you alright?" He repeated.

I shakily nod, "I'm not used to them." I gestured to the body. I looked down again and shook harder. Another body to lay just like Liam did, it made me almost revert to the hermit I was the first year after Liam's death. I barely spoke to anyone and was afraid to speak or even make eye contact.

"Here." Sherlock said after reaching into his coat. In his hand was another candy bar.

"I thought you said you didn't have anymore." My voice cracked from the earlier emotion.

Sherlock shrugged, "I didn't want you eating all my bribes."

I sniffled then took it, "Thanks." I smiled. I unwrapped it then took a bite. Immediately I started to feel better, but then something finally dawned on me, "Sherlock, who is it?"

"It's Mary Anne." Sherlock replied, "Lestrade will be here soon. Let's go inside." Sherlock took my arm and led me in while a nibbled slowly on my chocolate bar.

"What happened to her?" I asked.

"Someone drowned her." Sherlock said.

"Do you have any theories on who killed her or why?" I questioned.

"I have some." Sherlock replied, "However, I think we should inform Gerald of his wife's demise." Sherlock said without any emotion.

"Should I be the one to do it?" I offered.

Sherlock looked down at me in question, "Why should you?"

I shrugged, "I would break it gently."

Sherlock stepped in front of me stopping me, "You don't think I can break it gently?"

"No, I don't." I crossed my arms, "You seem like you have a hard time connecting to others emotionally and a man just lost his wife. Maybe I should be the one that tells him. Of course, you can be there to read whatever from his reactions."

"If that's how you wish to do things." Sherlock said.

"It is." I nodded, "But just so you know, I didn't mean that to be an insult or anything. I'm sorry if it did." I laid my hand on his arm, he glanced down to it then up at me.

"I wasn't offended." He said.

I smiled, "Good. Thank you for the chocolate, it helps."

"I knew it would. The chocolate releases endorphins in your brain making you feel happy. Surprisingly there is trace amounts of ecstasy, morphine, and marijuana inside, but it's so small that no one could reach a high with it or become addicted. However, I believe you prove that theory wrong by the amounts of candy wrappers in that draw of yours." Sherlock gave me a quick smirk.

I laughed, "Yes, I love my candy. I'm not going to apologize for it, however. Nothing can make me stop loving chocolate."

Sherlock smiled again as I took a large bite out of the bar, "You know on average there are at least 8 pieces of insects parts in each chocolate bar. Do you still love your chocolate now?"

I glanced down at the bar then at Sherlock then right back at the bar and swallowed thick, rich chocolate. After a moment I shrugged, "Extra protein. Anyway I already knew that. Lots of people told me that over the course of my 26 years and I still love chocolate. It will ever change."

"I hate to see the state of your teeth." Sherlock teased.

I stopped placing my hands of my hips, "I have you know, sir, that my teeth are beautiful pearly whites that are brushed three times a day. And I floss."

"Have wonderful for you." His voice went deeper in his teasing tone, "However I believe you have a husband to inform that he's now a widower."

My smile went away into a sadden frown, "Right."

We walked the hallway in silence except for the occasional sound of my teeth sinking into the chocolate bar. I walked slower than my normal pace, I wasn't looking forward to informing a man that his wife was dead. Why did I have to volunteer for this again? Well, I was thankful that Sherlock wasn't complaining about my slow movement. He seemed to realize that now wasn't a good time for his nagging.

"Do you know where his bedroom is?" I asked.

"Yes." He replied, "I remember passing it with my search." He explained. I figured he would know since he knew everything. Somehow the man knew where my old apartment was without John or I telling him the address and he refused to tell me how he knew.

We arrived at the door and I just stood there staring at it, now I really regretted volunteering. I still felt that Gerald should be told someone who had tact and wouldn't be blunt about the whole thing. Sherlock was, after all, the worse when it came down to understanding emotion and what's right and wrong to say when it comes to them.

"Are you going to knock or stare at the door until he comes out when he wakes up?" Sherlock said proving my theory correct.

I throw him a glare then knock quietly, far too quietly making Sherlock sigh, "Not even the lightest sleeper would hear that." He snapped.

I frowned with another glare at him then knocked again harder. It still wasn't good enough for Sherlock because he reached over and knocked so loud on the door that it could wake the dead. Not a moment later, Gerald appeared wearing a full suite from earlier.

"What the bloody hell are you knocking on my door like that?" He snapped looking at me with a mean scowl. I was about to tell him that I wasn't the one to knock, but Sherlock beat me to it.

"She didn't, I did." He said quickly.

"So what are you knocking on my door for, don't you have the ghost to catch." He snapped at Sherlock.

"Evangeline has something to tell you." Sherlock looked at me then. Gerald looked at me as well.

"Well, what is it?" He asked annoyed.

I cleared my throat, "I sorry to say this, but a moment ago we find your wife." I said softly.

"And?" He asked rudely before I could finish.

"Your wife that found in the pool." I stopped, "Mary Anne is dead." I watched his face carefully.

Gerald's eyes opened wide in shock, "Are you sure?" He asked surprised. I narrowed my eyes at that question.

"I'm positive." I nodded and waited for the pained expression that did not come. If he loved her, he should be devastated right now.

"Oh, how very, very terrible." He whispered. There was no denying that Gerald was shocked by the news. His eyes were wide with panic and his hands shook as he wiped at his clean face and dry eyes, but he wasn't saddened by the news. If he was, he'd deny that he saw her until he checked for himself. He wouldn't want to admit the truth and would be angry at us for saying so.

Sherlock's phone rang then so he stepped away for a moment while I watched Gerald whose nervous behavior seemed to grow with each passing second. He checked his watch multiple times, glanced around the hallway for something, and tapped his foot impatiently.

Sherlock returned a moment later, "Bad news. Lestrade and other police were on their way, but the only bridge that came too was closed because of the storm in that area. It will be awhile before they can arrive."

Gerald flinched at the mention of police, "Who already called the police?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the question.

"Of course, it's customary to phone the police after a body is found. There's no reason to be nervous, Gerald, unless of course you have something to hide, that is?"

Gerald gulped and hesitated for a moment before saying, "No. Not at all." His voice was small and tense. He cleared his throat, "If you excuse me, I have to make a phone call."

"Of course." I said curtly, all politeness gone. We were just about to walk away when I realized something, "Gerald?"

He froze, "Um…yes?"

"It's a bit early to be wearing a suite like that, but then again it was the one you wore when we arrived." I asked walking over again slowly with Sherlock on my heels, thankfully saying nothing.

"I, um, have something to attend in a moment and I wish to look my best. It's not the same suite, I have many like look just like this." He, obviously, lied.

I quirked a brow with a smirk, "Do they all have similar tea stains on the right cuff?" I turned around quickly and walked away, not before earning a brief smirk from Sherlock.

"So you noticed it too." He said.

I smiled, "Of course, it's obvious."

Sherlock chuckled, "Yes. He didn't change out of this suite since we've gotten here. He has something to do with our little ghost."

"But not the murder. You saw him, he was shocked. He has a partner." I thought aloud.

"Yes, one that's not going with the plan. He was surprised that his wife was murdered, but he wasn't torn up about it." Sherlock said.

"We best hurry this case up. We don't want them making off too fast." I replied.

Sherlock rubbed his hands together with an excited glint in his eyes, "Oh, this has gotten interesting."

I frowned, "Don't do that."

His brows knelt together in confusion, "Do what?"

"Get all excited when someone's died. It's not a good thing to do." I scolded.

"What makes you think I'm good?" He asked. All confusion left his face and it returned back into his emotionless mask, but in his eyes I could see that he actually wanted to know my answer.

"You are possibly the smartest man in Britain and one of the smartest men in the world. You could be anything, but you choose to be a consulting detective. You refuse payment for something you could become very wealthy for doing."

"I don't do this for charity. I do it out of boredom." He replied curtly.

I stopped and faced him, "Yes, but there are many ways to solve boredom, Mr. Holmes. Many dark ways, yet you choose this. That alone says a great deal about you."

Sherlock stood there not saying a word nor did he convey any emotion, but in his eyes, I saw his eyes soften for a moment. I smiled inwardly, Sherlock may be unreadable to everyone else, but his eyes were so easy to read.


End file.
